The Time Traveler, Book 1: Wandering Child
by Fuzzy-Pamplemousse
Summary: Rebecca is almost 18 when she finds a strange book that has the initials, A.O.M. on the cover. Then she is called upon by a Council of deformed people to go back in time and bring back the one person who will understand the Council: Erik. Complete!
1. Hit and Run

Wandering Child

Chapter 1-Hit and Run

Eighteen. An age to remember. I remember when I was little, and my parents would throw me a big birthday party. Actually, they would throw three of them. One party for my grandparents on my father's, one for my grandparents on my mother's side, and one for my friends.

When I turned eighteen, though, it was different. When I turned eighteen, I lost myself. My mother told me it was part of growing up, and that I only just noticed it now, but it had started a long time ago. She also told me that I would find myself again. In the meantime, though, I was to behave to the best of my abilities. She was wrong. Very wrong.

When I turned eighteen, I suddenly became rebellious. I hated school and didn't even attend most days in the last few months of my graduating year. When I did attend, I always sat in the back and read a book, or headed to the library to bury myself in a book. That was strange, too.

I had suddenly become aware that I loved to read and I couldn't get enough of books. I became a recluse. I had no more friends. They all seemed to just…drift away; as I spent more and more time burying what I had left of myself in books. At the time, I didn't know how else to explain what was happening to me, other than I had lost a piece of myself on the journey to adulthood, and that I felt I would never see it again. That feeling, however, was the beginning of something more.

I wasn't born to the parents that I had at the time. My parents had never told me, but I found out later that I had been adopted. I never did get to meet my real parents. My foster parents said they were dead, but, somehow, I knew better than that. Somehow, I knew that they were alive and watching over me.

As I reminisced about the good old days, before I had to worry about graduation, I chose a third book. I had already read two that day and couldn't wait to get my hands on another. I was searching through the shelves when I came across a book that didn't seem like it belonged. **_Kind of like me._** I thought bitterly.

I suddenly felt chilled to the bone and pulled my black sweater out of my backpack. As I was putting on my sweater, I spotted one of my former best friends. It was Tammy. Tammy had been the girl that I had poured my heart out to when I had lost my pet beagle, Sally, to lung cancer. **_Should I talk to her?_** I asked myself. **_Never._** My little voice replied. I decided to go with my little voice, and I ignored Tammy as she crossed the library and retrieved a spot by her new best friend.

To rid my mind of the feeling that I should go talk to her, I turned back to the book in my hand. It was bound in rough, black leather and I could see, as I turned the yellow pages, that they were not fastened to the book and they looked as though they had been handwritten. The long, spidery writing was, somehow, familiar. Almost as though I had dreamt of it when I was small. That faded spidery lettering that filled my soul with longing. Longing for what, I do not know.

I turned to the front of the book and read the dedication on the inside cover: **_To my darling daughter, with all the love my heart contains, Daddy._** A tear slid down my cheek as I remembered that I didn't have a daddy. At that time, I had begun to believe that my real father and mother were dead. Oh, how I longed to be that cherished child of the past. But I knew that I would always be a wanderer, never having a true place to call home.

I closed the leather-bound cover of the book, and something else about it caught my eye. There on the front of the book, in the top, right-hand corner were three initials: **_A. O. M._** AOM? I thought.What does that mean? I shrugged my shoulders and decided it was worth a try to read. I had a feeling that this book would take me a long time, so I went to the counter to take it out.

The librarians knew me by name, so I wasn't startled to hear them say hello.

"That's not ours," the librarian on duty said when I presented her with the book.

"Well," I said, "I realize that it's very old and worn, but I promise to take good care of it. I won't damage it. I would never damage a book." I said, thinking they just didn't want to let me borrow it.

"You don't understand, Rebecca, it's not ours. The only reason it didn't set off the alarm when someone brought it in was probably because it doesn't have a barcode." She turned the book over and pointed to the bottom right-hand corner of the cover. "See? There's nothing there. So, if you want to read it, you have to first find the owner of the book, and then ask them if it's alright with them if you borrow it." I gave a small sigh as I took it back. "I'm sorry we can't help you." The librarian said for a final time, and turned to her computer.

"Then this book belongs to me, now." I whispered almost inaudibly. I clutched the beautiful book to my chest and walked out of the library. I had a feeling that things were starting to change for me. I knew that it had something to do with the book.

I took one last look at the inside cover and I found something interesting. There was a title. It read: **_Don Juan Triumphant-The Original Musical Masterpiece._** Don Juan? Wasn't that the name of a character in a book? I recalled that the character was supposed to be popular among the ladies. Wasn't it from, like, a century ago? I opened the book to the middle and I realized for the first time that it wasn't a book. It was a manuscript. Someone had left their musical score in the library. _That was careless of them._ I thought to myself. Still, though, I could always use it. I love playing the piano. Or, at least I had just recently found out I loved playing the piano. In fact, for some strange reason, I could play any musical instrument that involved pressing keys. Except the accordion.

I closed the book and hurried home. Somehow, I had developed a sense of urgency over the past few minutes. I was almost as though something bad was going to happen if I didn't get home right away. When I left the parking lot and climbed on my bike, with the manuscript in my backpack, I spotted an older man wearing a black hoody and a pair of black pants. I immediately turned my bike around and sped down the street.

As soon as I was at least two blocks away, I stopped and turned. I saw the man lumbering into the school. Five minutes later, I heard something that I hope I never have to hear again. I heard gunshots. My body suddenly felt as though it was on fire and I gasped in pain. A shriek followed the gunshot and I saw the man run out of the school like hell. I turned my bike back around, determined to not let this man get away.

As I pedaled, I dug my phone out of the basket hanging in front of my bike and called 911.

"**Nine, one, one, emergency.**" The almost pleasant voice came up.

"Burgundy high. Gunshots. Chasing him. Grover Street. Heading south." I panted out as I pedaled as though my life depended on it.

"**A unit has just been dispatched to your location and an emergency unit is on the way to the school. Just hang in there."**

I was about to answer, but I had to swerve in between some cars and I dropped my phone just as the lady was about to say something. Then a van ran over it. _**Dammit**._ I swore inwardly and faced the front again.

Amazingly, I still hadn't caught up to the guy. He was fast. Really fast. But I knew that, while on my bike, I was faster. I turned the thing that controlled the speed up on my bike and put all those years of soccer practice to use.

I caught up with the guy in seconds. I stopped in front of him so suddenly that I flew over the handlebars and into some bushes. But I had the time to see him get the wind knocked out of him.

I heard the sirens and inwardly cheered. I had done it! Three months ago, I would never have dreamed of accomplishing something like this.

I stood up quickly and was struck with a momentary bout of nausea. I ignored the urge to vomit and stalked up to the guy. I grabbed him by the collar and shook him. He was surprisingly light for someone who looked like he could bend steel. He wasn't particularly muscular, he just looked strong.

"You think you can shoot people and get away with it?" I asked, stressed out to the max and PMSing. The guy looked at me and grinned. I was horrified. Here was a guy who had just shot someone and he was smiling! Well, I would show him. Unfortunately, I didn't get my chance because the man rasped out: "Your time is near, Wanderer. Soon, you will be gone." I watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he went limp. I dropped his collar and stared at the slumped body on the ground. I knew without a doubt that he was dead. How, though, was a mystery.

As the paramedics pulled up, along with the police, I stood where I was and stared at the ground, even after he had been pronounced dead by the paramedics. I looked up briefly when an officer asked me my name and what happened. Numbly, I gave it to him. As soon as he was done interrogating me, he declared that I could go home, but he would need my number and address. I wrote it down on his note pad, and he said I was free to go. I turned and left the scene. As I pushed through the crowd that had formed, I wondered: What's going to happen to me? Will I be accused of murder? And how had I known that something bad was going to happen? I shook my head. I learned later that the person had been shot in the head. They had been sitting in my favorite spot in the library.


	2. A Stranger's Message

Chapter 2-A Stranger's Message

That evening, I sat on the window seat in my room, staring out at the street below me, and I wondered: Am I a murderer?

The police had phoned my parents earlier in the evening and had explained it all to them. They had even said that they wanted to present me with an award. I had immediately declined. I didn't want all the publicity that something like that would bring. The only reason I had chased the guy was because he had killed an innocent girl.

I then recalled what he had said to me right before he died. **_Your time is near, Wanderer. Soon, you will be gone_**.I shuddered at the thought of what that threat might bring. I felt sure that, even though he was dead, I hadn't seen the last of people like him.

I heard a knock on my door and called, "Come in."

My mom entered and I made room for her on the window seat beside me. She sat down and placed a plate of lukewarm chicken in between us. I smiled as this kind gesture conjured up a memory of before.

I had been only seven years old and lying in bed with a pounding headache. The headache had come because I hadn't had any nutrition to speak of all day. So, as I lay in bed, my mother brought of me a plate of lukewarm chicken, salted just right. I had eaten the whole plate and then fallen asleep not two minutes later. The next day, my headache had been completely gone. I never forgot that.

"Thanks, Mom." I said, my voice filled with gratitude at her kindness. I dug into the chicken with gusto and smiled. It was salted just right. As I peeled smaller stripes off of the bigger piece of chicken, I turned to watch the busy street below.

"What are you looking at?" My mom asked me.

"Nothing." I replied. "I'm looking at nothing. I'm searching for something. Something important. I don't know what it is, but I know it's important."

I turned to look at her. Her eyes looked as though she was far away, and I realized that she was living in the past. I had never noticed it before, but my mother dressed like an old lady. She didn't believe in wearing make-up, so it made her look even more like an old lady.

At first, when I had been popular, I had borrowed my friends' make-up and used it at school, then removed it before I went home. My mother had never found out, but I had eventually stopped using make-up so as to not arouse suspicion. But, after a while, I just didn't care anymore.

I turned my face back to the window and sat in silence, watching the cars go by and scanning each passenger. Was I looking for a person, or a thing?

I found it strange that I was looking for…something, or someone, and I didn't even know who they were. Stranger, still, though, was what I did know.

Somehow, I knew that the man that afternoon had been looking for me. I knew that he had threatened my safety and the safety of others, and yet, I didn't know why.

I turned away from the window and was about to speak, when I noticed that my mom wasn't in the room. She had left me with my thoughts. **_And more lukewarm chicken._** I thought. I smiled and ate my fill, which was all of it.

-

I don't know how long I had been sitting on the window seat before I found what I was looking for. Or, should I say, whom?

As I was wondering if my instincts were wrong, a neutral black car pulled up in front of our house. I held my breath. Was the person trying to kill me? Did they have a gun?

I braced myself and watched as a man in his late twenties, early thirties, climbed out of the car and stretched. He was acting very casual, but his outfit gave him away.

I never did know much about fashion, but what I did know was that no one wears a tux if they're trying to be casual.

I waited in suspense as the man strolled onto the sidewalk and looked up at the house. I froze. He was looking directly at me. Seemingly satisfied, he went up to the front door and knocked.

I bolted straight for my old baseball bat from little league (I had been a big fan of sports as a kid. Being tall and gangly paid off.)

I wielded the bat with experience and precision. I knew how to use it if I wanted to kill someone. Now, I wasn't planning on killing him, but if it came to that, I wasn't afraid. Not anymore.

The doorbell rang and I bolted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I got to the door just as my mom was about to open it.

"Don't!" I cried, and her hand stopped on the handle.

"What is it?" She asked, concern rippling through her voice.

I thought quickly. "It's a reporter. I don't want to be interviewed."

My mother took in my appearance. I suddenly became aware that she was staring at the baseball bat in my hands. I giggled awkwardly and hid the bat behind my back.

"There a problem?" I asked nervously.

She eyed me one more time before replying, "I'll chase the guy away. Now go upstairs." She turned and opened the front door.

I backed up a few stairs, just enough so that I could see what was going on.

"I'm sorry, Sir" I heard my mother say. "But she's doing her homework right now and she's not to be disturbed. She's on a tight schedule, and if we were to include you, it wouldn't be until next February."

**_Go Mom!_** I inwardly cheered. My mom, apparently, was a very good liar.

The man started to protest. "You don't understand. My name is Mr. Johnson, and I represent the local police department, I came here to inform you and your daughter about the ceremony that the department would like to hold in honor of your daughter's courageous act today."

"Oh?" I knew when my mother said that that she was raising her eyebrows. For me, that wasn't a good sign, but it was for Mr. Johnson.

In the end, my mom invited him in, although she still insisted that I was doing my homework and he should really come back later. Mr. Johnson, however, was very persistent. Eventually, my mom called up the stairs for me to come down.

I came, but I was prepared for anything. I had my house key tucked in between my knuckles in case he tried to hurt me, and I had taken a knife that my father had left in his office from a previous late-night snack. I had washed the knife and it was tucked discreetly into my pocket.

"Yes, Mom?" I came down and glared at Mr. Johnson. He didn't even flinch. I took that as a sign that he was expecting me to be hostile, therefore, he was lying. If he had really been representing the police department, he would have been surprised that I didn't seem happy to receive an award.

"Whatever your selling, we don't want any." I said, my voice slightly hoarse because I was afraid for my family.

"Rebecca!" My mother chastised me. "That's no way to talk to our guest. Apologize to Mr. Johnson this instant." She ordered.

I looked at him and said sarcastically, "Sorry for being suspicious of a liar." If looks could kill, we'd both be dead. He was glaring at me just as strongly as I was glaring at him.

"That's all right." Mr. Johnson said, turning to my mother and putting on a plastic smile. Unfortunately, my mother was a regular old typical mother, so she bought the whole thing.

Mr. Johnson stood up. "I have to go anyway." He said. "It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Lawrence." He said to my mom, who stood up to see him out the door. "You too, Rebecca," he said, turning his plastic smile on me.

Then Mr. Johnson pretended to try to go around me, but he bumped into me.

"Sorry." He apologized. As he passed, a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I caught him looking at it, but he quickly turned his eyes away. As he was saying a final goodbye to my mom, I bent down and scooped up the small piece of paper. Quickly, I tucked it into my pocket before my mother could see it. Then the man smiled his plastic smile at my mother and me one last time, and left.

I sighed. I hadn't even realized that I was holding my breath.

"Well," my mother said in a voice filled with disappointment. "I hope your happy now. You just hurt Mr. Johnson's feelings. You better hope that he still wants to give you that award. No one in my family or your father's family has ever gotten an award." Her voice was filled with longing.

"Just because you want me to accept this award, doesn't mean I will. I don't want all the publicity. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have homework to finish." I turned and stomped up the stairs for emphasis on the fact that I 'supposedly' was PMSing, or something. (PMS is usually the excuse my mother comes up with ever time I'm rude or something.)

-

As soon as I was in my room, I pulled out the small scrap of paper and read it. **_Huh?_** I thought when I finished reading the note (that's what it was).

All the note said was: **_inner city. runner's st. warehouse 3. 1'o clock AM. Don't be late._**

Did he want me to meet him there? I didn't know the answer, but I would take the chance. And if it turned out that it was all a trap, I'd be ready. No one was going to take Rebecca Lawrence by surprise. No one.


	3. A Meeting

Wandering Child

Chapter 3- A Meeting

I crept down the darkened alley. The only sound I could hear was the distant noise of cars traveling on the perimeter highway a few blocks away. I heard a truck horn blare and I cringed. I seemed to be jumping at every little sound.

The message had said: **_Inner city. Runner's st. Warehouse 3. 1'o clock AM. Don't be late_**.****Our definition of an Inner city was the warehouse district. Runner's street was the longest road in that area. I had just reached it.

I stood outside Warehouse three and looked around. There didn't seem to be anyone around, but I knew better than to trust appearances. The message hadn't said if I was supposed to wait outside or inside. It also said to not me late. I figured that the only way to make sure that I was on time, I had to go inside.

I shuddered. I wasn't afraid of the dark, but I disliked it. It made be feel uncomfortable. If there was to be someone lying in wait for me in the shadows, I would have no way of knowing. As well, I was deathly afraid of spiders. I wasn't afraid of mice, but that doesn't mean I liked them.

I paused briefly before entering the warehouse. It was pitch-black. I felt near the entrance for a light switch.

Suddenly, a light came on. I knew that I hadn't been the one to turn it on, but that didn't mean I wasn't glad to have it. It came from a bare lightbulb that was hanging from the ceiling. I walked forward until I was directly under it. Then I went forward a few more steps.

Suddenly, another light came on a few feet in front of me. I turned to see that the light behind me had gone out. I walked until I was just past this next light, and another one came on a few feet in front of me. I knew without looking that the previous light had gone out.

I continued one with lights turning on in front of me, and off behind me. The air was muggy and stifling. I longed to find a window and open it, but instead I kept going.

Finally, I reached a wall. **_Oh, great_**. I thought. **_A dead end_**. I pushed against the wall in case there was a possibility of there being another way out other than the way I came through. The wall didn't move. Either I had been set up, or there was some other way to find whoever it was that I was supposed to be meeting with.

Suddenly, a voice boomed overhead, "THAT'S THE WRONG WAY. IF YOU WANT TO FIND US, YOU HAVE TO TURN AROUND."

i turned and saw that a light had come on again from the direction to which I had come. **_What was the point of that?_** I thought as I walked towards the light. Funny, I didn't recall my first trip across being such a distance.

When I reached the light, I could see seven people sitting around a long, rectangular, wooden table. Each person sitting at the table was clad in black from head to toe. I didn't know how they could possibly have sat there under that light in the stifling summer heat. Every person sitting at the table was also wearing a face covering that revealed only their eyes. The table had no decorations except for a symbol painted in red across the top. I went to get a better look at the symbol. The head of the table was empty, and the one to the right of it beckoned me to sit down. I did, and was finally able to see clearly as to what the symbol was. It was a red rose with a dagger being stabbed through it. In the background there were flames. The hilt of the dagger was intricately painted with the picture of half of a silver mask.

"You're late." Said the person to my right. I could tell that he was male by his deep voice. He removed his face covering and I saw that he wore a half mask that was colored black. The others removed their mask and I saw that they were all wearing half masks. Some were on the right side of the face, some on the left.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"We do not have names. We did at one point, but we abandoned those names for designating numbers." Said the woman on my left. "I am AM1. This," she said, pointing to the man on my right. "Is AM2."

"What are you, some kind of cult?" I asked, skeptical that there was any real reason for my being there.

"Sort of." AM2 offered. "We're not a cult by definition. We're more of a..." His voice trailed away for a moment. "Fan club."

"You could call us an association of right." Ventured the woman sitting beside AM1. AM1 nodded and turned her face fully to me. I could tell that, behind the mask, her face was not what we would call normal.

"Okay..." I said, trying to understand what I was being told. "So, What are you fans of?" I asked.

AM2 looked at AM1 and AM1 nodded consent.

"Would you please open you bag?" AM2 asked politely.

"No." I said with almost no emotion at all. "The things I have brought with me are unimportant to you as of yet."

"Oh, but they are very important." AM1 said in a voice that reminded me of a child who has had to wait a long time to open his birthday presents.

Just then, someone from behind me grabbed the pack from my lap.

"Hey!" I cried and held on. The person had to step into the light to be able to get a better grip on the pack and, in my surprise, I let go of the pack. It was Mr. Johnson!

"You!" I growled in a deep-throated menacing voice.

"Never mind him." AM1 said. "He's just doing what he's been told. Burt here is a scientist, actually. He's one of the reason's why you're here."

"Oh, now that changes things." I said sarcastically. "Of course I'll let you snoop through my stuff and steal from me. NOT! Give it back!" And I stood up and grabbed the bag from him. The pack's flimsy fabric tore and it's contents spilled everywhere. Inside was a flashlight, some jerky, a juice box, and the manuscript. I had decided to bring it along in case my mother found it. At least, that was the reason I told myself.

Mr. Johnson picked up the manuscript before I could get it and handed it to AM2.

"At last." AM2 said, and stroked the leather binding lovingly. He then reluctantly handed it to the waiting hands of AM1.

"Good." She said in a satisfactory tone. Then she passed it to the woman sitting next to her. "The last piece slips into the puzzle." She said softly, and looked at me in a queer way.

I sat back down in the high-backed chair and shifted uncomfortably. I saw the last person in the row, the man directly across from me, take the manuscript and stand up.

"Hey!" I cried, standing up again. "That's mine!"

"Correction," AM2 said haughtily, looking at the spot where the other man had gone off. "It was yours. It's ours now."

"No it isn't!" I yelled, and came up to him. I leaned menacingly close to him and growled, "Give it back or you'll be sorry."

"Oh, my." He said sarcastically. I raised a fist. "Now." I hissed. AM2 wrapped his bony fingers around my fist and squeezed. It was like my hand was on fire.

"AAAAAH!" I screamed.

"ENOUGH!" AM1 thundered, and AM2 released my fist. "This is not getting us anywhere." She turned to me as I rubbed my hand. "Please sit down again." She said. "You'll get the manuscript back, don't worry."

I grudgingly sat down and glared at AM2 for a long moment before turning to AM1 and asking, "So why am I here anyway?"

"Well," AM1 began slowly. "I think I should explain who we are first."

**A/N:** **Well, that was exhilarating! Let me know what you think! No flames, please.**


	4. A Proposal

Wandering Child

Chapter 4-A Proposal

00TheBlackDove00: Thanks for your review. Sorry I couldn't answer sooner. The site was down. The answer to your question is…read and find out!

Miss Black Shadow: You are too kind. You have no need to use your rubber duck army. You now have your update. And yes to your question. But don't tell anyone else. Let them find out on their own.

Tadriena of Mirkwood: Thank you so much! Actually, he didn't **really** burn her hand; it just **felt** like it was on fire because he was crushing her bones.

-

"I am going to tell you the story of how and why I began The Council of Music." AM1 said. "I want no interruptions from anyone." I nodded. "Good." She said.

"I'll start at the beginning. When I was born, I was a beautiful baby, and all the people in my neighborhood adored me and came over for weeks after my mother came home from the hospital, just to see me. For five wonderful years, I was a normal little girl who was the most popular girl on the block. Then things changed." She touched her mask hesitantly. Then she let her hand drop to her lap.

"I went out camping with my parents. They had decided to bring some friends with us. They were having a big party. Then they got an emergency call from my uncle. My grandfather had passed away. My parents rushed off, forgetting me at the campsite. I wandered around the drunken people in a stupor. I was standing near the fire. Then a spark hit a gasoline tank that was nearby. The tank blew up and the fire was everywhere. I was hit. I was the only one who survived, and I wish I hadn't. It almost completely melted the flesh off of one side of my face. The other side was badly burned, but wasn't too damaged. The burn on the right side of my face healed nicely. It hadn't been hit too badly. The other side..." Her voice trailed away and she touched her mask again. Then, slowly, she removed it. I suppressed a gasp. The entire half of her face was all melted and twisted. It had a sickly yellowish color to it.

"Yes, I know it's hideous." She said as she replaced her mask. "After that, no one wanted to play with me. I was shunned and hated by everyone, including my parents. Even though it was their fault for leaving me behind!" There was hatred in her voice. Then she continued. "I left home as soon as possible. I have been on my own since I was ten years old. I founded The Council of Music when I was sixteen. The only reason I dared to hope for a better life was because of this." And she held up a worn paperback book. On the cover there was a picture of a man fixing his tie. The words **_The Phantom of the Opera_** were printed on the cover.

"What does that book have to do with anything?" I asked.

"This is the story of a man who was deformed at birth. He was hated by all. His mother's first gift to him was a mask. The book details how he lived in the bowels of the Opera Populaire in the late nineteenth century. It takes place in Paris, France. This man, Erik, was known as the Phantom of the Opera, Opera Ghost, Trap-door lover, and The Angel of Music."

"Angel of Music?" I asked. "The initials on the manuscript!"

"That manuscript is the original Don Juan Triumphant musical score. He gave it to his daughter."

"Wait a minute, how could he have given it to his daughter if he was shunned by everyone?" I asked skeptically.

"We don't know." AM1 said. "But he was the whole reason I founded The Council of Music. And now Burt comes into the picture." She beckoned Mr. Johnson over.

"I knew you had nothing to do with the police department." I said.

"Burt is a scientist." AM1 said. "His theories regarding the time-space continuum are quite remarkable. He has built for us a time machine. The reason you are here is so you can go back in time and bring Erik here. Not only will he have a better life, but he'll be a hero to every deformed child in the world. Everyone here became deformed either at birth, or because of some accident. He will no longer be scorned. Especially not by the women. There is a great following that practically worships the ground he walked upon. The author's note says that it was a true story, and it's your job to find out if it was or not."

"Hold on a second." I said. "Why do I have to go? And that doesn't explain why you need the manuscript."

"The machine that Burt built needs something from the time period that you want to go to for it to work. And you have to go because you're a neutral party and won't fall at his feet and embarrass yourself."

"But what about my family? They'll worry."

"Not if you arrive back here at the same time you left." AM1 replied.

"You **are** a cult." I said. "And you're crazy."

"Wouldn't you like to see what Paris was like back then?"

"How would I even get to Paris?"

"We have a special transport that is very private. Tell you mom you're going on a field trip to Paris."

"One problem with that." I said. "I'm out of school."

"Then tell your parents that you'll be away for the weekend."

"I'm not so sure." I said uncertainly.

"We can pay you." AM2 spoke up.

"Well, alright." I said. "But it better be a lot of money, seeing as how I'm risking my neck for you guys." I wasn't going to pass up the chance to have an adventure **_and_** get paid for it, too.

"Good." AM1 said. "We have already prepared everything that you will need for the trip. Including some garments that would be very similar to those that you will see on the streets of nineteenth century Paris."

"How do you even know if they're my size?" I asked.

"If they're not, then we'll have to get new ones. You happen to be quite skinny, so you won't need a corset. That will make walking easier for you. As well, you're supposed to stay inconspicuous and not play with the timeline."

"Isn't bringing Erik here playing with the timeline?" I asked.

"Not really. It's just preventing him from committing suicide." AM2 replied.

"He commits suicide?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes." AM1 said. "Now you should really get going. Your plane leaves first thing in the morning."

"How can I tell my parents that I'm going to be away for the weekend if I'm already going to be gone?" I asked. There seemed to be a lot of things that needed an explanation, and they didn't seem very willing to give me answers.

"We have already sent a message to your parents in your handwriting that says you have left to visit a sick friend for the weekend and will be unreachable." AM1 said.

"I don't even want to know how you got my handwriting." I said, standing up.

"AM3 and AM4 will accompany you to Paris. They will make camp in the area where you are supposed to go back in time. The time machine has a cloak and you **must** put it in cloak while you are away. It is essential that **no one** finds the machine. Understood?"

I nodded. "Yes." I said. I followed AM3 and AM4 to the door where a neutral van waited. I climbed in and buckled my seatbelt. AM3 was a petite blond with green eyes that had flecks of gold in them. She was probably very pretty before she was deformed. AM4 was a stern young man with long black hair and ocean-blue eyes. He walked with an air of authority. I figured that I could probably have a decent conversation with AM3, but not AM4.

"So..." I said as the car sped down the highway. Mr. Johnson-or Burt-was driving. AM4 was in the front seat and AM3 was in the back seat with me. "Do you like books?" I asked AM3. She just stared ahead and didn't look back.

"I like books." I said, trying to be conversational, but failing miserably at it.

"The only book we like is **_The Phantom of the Opera_**." AM4 said.

"I think she can speak for herself." I retorted.

"Actually," AM4 said. "She can't. She's mute."

"Oh! That's terrible!" I said, shocked.

"I'm not mute." AM3 said. "I just chose not to reply. I prefer not to have to speak."

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. I watched the other cars pass us as we headed for the airport. When we arrived, I used the money that I carried with me always to stock up on beef jerky. It was somewhat healthy and was probably better than airplane food. I just hoped that the plane ride would go smoothly.

**A/N: This was a fun chapter to write. I'm on a role! Please R&R. No flames, please. The next chapter is coming soon.**


	5. Friendship & Explanations

Wandering Child

Chapter 5- Friendship and Explanations

Disclaimer: I don't own PotO, or the lyrics to the beautiful lullaby, **_Close Your Eyes_**.

"What terminal do we go to?" I asked AM4.

"We don't go to a terminal. Our plane is private." I had a hard time keeping up with his long strides. He was tall and had a muscular build. His black mask covered the left side of his face. No one seemed to think it interesting that there were two people dressed all in black and wearing black masks who were being followed by a tall, skinny girl with shoulder-length blond hair, jeans, and a tank-top in the airport.

As I entered the plane, I saw how luxurious it was, and I gasped. "How could you afford such an expensive plane if everyone hates you?" I asked as I sat down and buckled my seatbelt.

"Everyone doesn't hate us." AM3 said quietly, looking at me in a strange manner. "But they do fear us. All AM1, and AM2 have to do is make a few threats and they get what they want. On occasion they reveal their faces when making the threats if the person is especially unwilling." I looked at her, horrified. "Don't worry." She said. "It's not as bad as it sounds. And it puts food on the table."

"When I was little, my mother would sing as she worked. My mother had a beautiful voice." The left side of her face became clouded with memories and it made her look younger. "Sometimes," She said wistfully, "I can still hear my mother singing a lullaby to me." She began to hum a soft melody as the planes engines powered up. Then she started to sing.

Well the sun is slowly sinking down  
But the moon is slowly rising.  
So this old world must still be spinning 'round.  
And I still love you.  
So close you eyes  
You can close your eyes, it's alright.  
I don't know no love songs  
And I can't sing the blues anymore.  
But I can sing this song.  
And you can sing this song when I'm gone.

It won't be long before another day  
We're gonna have a good time  
And no one's gonna take that time away  
You can stay as long as you like.  
So close you eyes  
You can close your eyes, it's alright.  
I don't know no love songs  
And I can't sing the blues anymore.  
But I can sing this song.  
And you can sing this song when I'm gone.

"That was beautiful." I whispered with tears in my eyes.

"No matter what I looked like, my mother still loved me. If she hadn't died of leukemia, I wouldn't be here right now. My mother was the only one who truly loved me for who I was on the inside and the outside." AM3's eyes glistened as she thought about her precious mother, and how much she missed her.

I realized that AM3 had just confided in me her deepest thoughts. **_She must really trust me_**, I thought. "When I was little," I said. "My mom would always read me a story. We would cuddle up on the sofa and she would wrap an afghan around us and then she'd start to read. I really loved it when she read to me. Sometimes, I think that I might have been adopted when I was little and I just don't remember it."

"Why's that?" AM3 asked, looking up from her lap. She had been staring at her hands, embarrassed that she had said so much.

"Well," I said. "Whenever I remember my mother reading to me, the woman isn't the same mother that I have now. I think my real mother died when I was little, and it was so traumatizing that I just don't remember."

An awkward silence passed between us and AM4 came back into the passenger area. "We'll be taking off in a few minutes." He said, sitting down and buckling his seatbelt.

"I just have one question." I said, turning to him.

"What?" He asked.

"Why did that guy try to kill me?" I asked, sure that that had been the man's purpose.

"AM4 started to speak, but AM3 interrupted him. "Don't listen to whatever he says. He'll only lie to you. You deserve to know the truth. That man was part of an elite group of people who are opposed to everything that we stand for. They have spies everywhere. Their goal is to create a world where, if a child is born deformed or becomes deformed, they will be either cast out into the wilderness, or they will be killed."

"That's terrible!" I exclaimed. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"They must have figured out that you had the manuscript. If you have the manuscript, then they knew it was only a matter of time before we found you."

AM4 interrupted her there. "That's why we have to get this over and done with as soon as possible. We can't risk The Others finding us."

"The Others?" I asked.

"That's what we call this group." AM3 said. I sat back in my seat and thought about what they had said. If what they said was true, then I was in more danger than I thought.

-

Margaret Lawrence sat up in bed. Something felt wrong. She checked her clock. It was five AM. She lay back down but she couldn't get to sleep. She got up and went downstairs to get a drink of water.

As she headed downstairs, she felt as though someone was watching her. Her husband was out of town on business. Her daughter, Rebecca, was sleeping in her bedroom on the second floor.

Margaret went to the fridge and stopped short. There was a note pinned in Rebecca's hasty scrawl. It said:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Sorry I couldn't let you know sooner, but I went off to visit a friend who's sick. You won't be able to reach me all weekend. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Love Rebecca.

Margaret tore the note off of the fridge door and ran up the stairs as fast as she could. When she got to Rebecca's room, she threw open the door. There was a large oblong shaped lump under the covers. Margaret threw away the covers. Underneath the blanket were three pillows. And Rebecca's cat.

Margaret looked at the note again. The writing was certainly Rebecca's, but Rebecca didn't use words like 'inconvenience'. Margaret had a bad feeling about it.

**A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter, but my cat is sitting on my arm and won't go away. AAWWW! SHE'S SO CUTE! And soft. My mom really would sing that lullaby to me when I was little. That was my favorite lullaby as a kid. Please review.**


	6. Dreams

Wandering Child

Chapter 6-Dreams

**A/N: I don't own PotO (unfortunately), but I do own The Council of Music, Rebecca, and The Others. As well, I own the song, **Nightmare**. You can't sue me for using my imagination.**

-

**_I was in darkness. I couldn't see. My senses had been dulled. No sound came from the stillness. Then, like a candle being lit, a light appeared. Out f the light, a shadow moved. It saw it move. Sound appeared. Loud, heavenly sound. I've never heard anything like it. It was so beautiful. _**

_**I tried to speak, to ask the shadow if it could sing louder. But my mouth didn't work. Then the music stopped abruptly. I heard some moans, and then the sound of someone sobbing.**_

_**"Why?" The shadow cried as he raised his head to the ceiling. "Why? Why do these things to me? Why make me this way? Why?" His voice had a bit of a hollow sound to it. I thought that fitting for a shadow. "What have I ever done to you!" He screamed at the roof of his dwelling.**_

_**I could see tunnels going in all directions. It was a maze. The shadow rose from his place, and turned towards a door in the wall. He opened it, and went in. I followed him in. inside was a coffin. The Shadow entered the coffin, and lay down. It reached one out with one frail-looking arm and swung the lid closed. Obviously the shadow wasn't as frail as he appeared. Maybe he's just sleeping. I doubt it. My mind swam. What is it that I am seeing?**_

_**Suddenly, a thought came to my mind. I remembered a song I wrote when I was sixteen. It was a song of darkness imprisoning me, and then me breaking free. I thought that perhaps it would encourage the shadow. I began to sing it.**_

**The darkness is all around.**

**The air is thick;**

**I can't breath.**

**The darkness keeps closing in**

**And I can't seem to find**

**That special piece of mind**

**That will break these chains of mine.**

**This is my life;**

**This is my chance;**

**This is my world **

**You've entered.**

**_I heard the shadow stir inside his coffin. I thought that perhaps the words were spoken from his heart, and God had decided to put them in my mouth._**

**Let's light a candle,**

**A wavering flame.**

**This is my secret**

**Way to escape.**

**Can't seem to find**

**Another one like me**

**Can't seem to be**

**Able to breath.**

**This is my life;**

**This is my chance;**

**This is my world**

**You've entered.**

_**The shadow opened his coffin lid and sat up. He looked around, and the whole time I continued to sing.**_

**Tell me a story.**

**Tell it loud.**

**Don't let It see you.**

**Stay on the ground.**

**Beware of the monster,**

**Hiding within.**

**Don't let it go free;**

**Don't let it win.**

**This is my life.**

**This is my chance.**

**This is my world**

**You've entered.**

**_The shadow climbed out of the coffin and looked directly at me. Now that I had started singing, I couldn't seem to stop. I prayed that the shadow would find comfort in my next words._**

**I'm writing the story;**

**It's barely begun.**

**This is my time;**

**Let's have some fun.**

**We'll throw in some monsters,**

**A beast or two.**

**We'll have a grand time,**

**Just me and you.**

**This is my life.**

**This is my chance.**

**This is my world**

**You've entered.**

**Look at my life.**

**Lost my own chance.**

**Destroyed my own world;**

**I'm sorry.**

**Look at my life.**

**Lost my own chance.**

**Destroyed my own world;**

**I'm sorry.**

**_The shadow came towards me. As I finished the last part of the song, I felt myself returning to the real world. I hoped that I had somehow helped the shadow to feel more confident about himself._**

I woke with a start. The plane was shaking and bouncing. I sat up straight and looked out the window to my left. I barely caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower before it was hidden behind the clouds.

"Did I sleep through the whole flight?" I asked AM3.

"Yes, you did." She said with a slight smile on her face.

"What?" I asked. She was looking at me as though she knew something I didn't.

"You were singing in your sleep." AM4 said gruffly, although I could tell he was at least slightly amused by the idea. I, however, was not.

"Sorry." I said meekly.

As the plane began its descent, I marveled at the sights. I saw the Arc de Triomphe, The Champs Elysées, the Louvre, and many more sights that I knew I wouldn't have a chance to see when we landed. I remembered from school that France was known for it's many castles. The only reason they weren't destroyed in WWII was because the French gave up so as to be able to protect their lands.

I sighed. Whenever I saw a castle, it made me think of an adventure. I remembered, though, that I was on my own adventure, and this was one was much more real, and much more dangerous. I had to be careful if I wanted to come back unscathed.

**A/N: There it is. Review, please!**


	7. Following The Evidence

Wandering Child

Chapter 7-Following the Evidence

Margaret Lawrence was frazzled. She had stayed up all the rest of the night thinking about how she was going to find her daughter. She had tried calling her husband to tell him, but his cell phone was out of range.

Margaret finally decided to search Rebecca's room for a clue as to where had gone. As she searched, she thought of what Rebecca had said a few days earlier.

**_"I don't want to be a regular kid anymore, Mom. What's wrong with me? Am I sick? It can't be that all of a sudden, I just don't want to be normal. Isn't it a teenager's dream to be normal?"_**

Margaret now regretted the words she had said in response to her daughter's cry for help.

**_"It will pass, don't worry about it. Everyone goes through this stage in life. I did, your father did. So stop worrying."_**

As Margaret searched through her daughter's messy heaps of clothes, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. She bent over and picked it up. It seemed to be a scrap of paper that had been torn from a notebook. One side was blank. The other side had a note scrawled in a scratchy writing. It said: **_Inner city. Runner's st. Warehouse 3. 1'o clock AM. Don't be late_**.****

****What did it mean? Margaret had never been one for deciphering riddles or notes, but she knew that the only way to find out what the note meant was to follow the instructions. Hopefully, whoever had given Rebecca the note was still there and would hopefully tell Margaret where her daughter was.

Margaret got dressed and combed her hair. Just taking ten minutes to do the necessities of getting ready for the day was difficult. Every bone in her body was screaming to dash out the door and follow the clue to where her daughter was. But she had to at least make herself look presentable. She wasn't going to appear as though she worried. If Rebecca was in trouble, her captors would most likely have no pity, and would not hesitate to enjoy the fact that Margaret had worried about her daughter's well being.

Margaret was relieved when she finally looked presentable enough to fool at least the dim-witted lackeys that the kidnapper was most likely to have at his or her disposal. It didn't even occur to Margaret to call the police until she was halfway out the door. But she quickly dismissed the idea as too risky. If the kidnapper thought that the police where on his or her trail, they might just kill Rebecca and run off. That thought Margaret could not bear.

When Rebecca had first come into her house as a three year-old orphan, she had had a hard time convincing her that Margaret was really her mother. Eventually, though, Rebecca forgot her real mother and came to believe that Margaret was her mother and always had been. Margaret had grown to love Rebecca as though she were really her daughter.

Rebecca had come to Margaret and Jonathan's home when she was three years old. Her real mother had been Margaret's very own sister. Annaliese had been an impulsive girl, and at sixteen had made the mistake of getting pregnant. When she found out, Margaret and Annaliese's parents had kicked Annaliese out of their house.

Margaret was already an adult and had been married for three years when her sister told her about her pregnancy and begged Margaret to be able to stay with them. Annaliese had said that it would just be until she got a job and was able to provide for herself and her baby.

Margaret and Jonathan had agreed. But there was something that Annaliese had not told them. She was a drug addict, and an alcoholic. It had been a miracle that Rebecca had been born without a disability. The one thing that Margaret always was proud of her sister for was the fact that she didn't even consider abortion as an option.

Annaliese eventually was kicked out of the Lawrence's home. It broke Margaret's heart to do it, but she figured it was the only way for Annaliese to see that she needed to get her act together. Annaliese had ended up with a boyfriend who wasn't any better than Annaliese herself. Child and Family Services had come then and taken six-month-old Rebecca away from her mother.

Rebecca. It had been the name that Margaret had wanted to name her baby when she first got married. But then she found out that she couldn't have children. It had broke her heart. Annaliese had named her daughter Faith. Margaret had never really liked the name Faith. So when Annaliese over-dosed on drugs one night, Child and Family Services brought little three-year-old, baby-faced, Faith to stay. Margaret had renamed her Rebecca.

Now that she thought about it while driving down the highway, Rebecca deserved to know where she really came from. She deserved to know that her real mother was named Annaliese, and that her mother had loved her very much. Faith seemed like such a fitting name now.

Margaret reached Runner's street and cruised down it until she came to warehouse three. She parked her car and went in. it was broad daylight outside, but inside the warehouse was very dark. Only small pools of sunlight seeped through the small windows. The few windows that were in the warehouse were very small, and very high up. You'd need a ladder just to get some fresh air.

Although the light was dim, Margaret was able to see that the warehouse was empty. She ran to the opposite side of the warehouse where there was a door with a cardboard sign above it. Someone had painted on the cardboard in big block letters and red paint the word, EXIT.

Margaret sighed and turned around. Only to find that she was surrounded by people dressed all in black.

"Who are you?" Asked one.

"What are you doing here?" Asked another.

"Are you spying for The Others?" Demanded a third. "Come on, speak up!"

Margaret finally found her voice. "I'm here to find out what has happened to my daughter." She said. She surprised herself. Her voice sounded much more confident than she felt. She mentally counted the people off. Five. There were five people surrounding her. Not the best odds. Two more people pushed through the crowd. That made seven.

Margaret noticed that all of the black-clad people surrounding her were wearing masks on either the right side, or the left side of their faces. They all had black robes that went down to their ankles and black boots were on their feet. Their hands were clad in black gloves and their hoods were drawn up around their faces.

"Who are you?" Margaret asked more confidently than she felt.

"We," said one of the two who had stepped forward. "Are The Council of Music." She pulled back her hood and Margaret could see that she had short, black hair that was slicked back. "But the better question is," The woman continued, "Who are you?"

"My name is Margaret Lawrence. My daughter is missing. I found a note in the pocket of her pants that said she was supposed to meet someone here. Where is she?" In the last sentence, Margaret couldn't keep her voice from squeaking just a little.

"She is...detained." Said the second person that had stepped forward. He was obviously male due to his deep voice. "We're sorry to disappoint you, but she is no longer here. She was, at one point, but is no longer."

"What do you mean? Where is she?" Margaret was becoming frantic. "I want my daughter!" she screamed. She didn't care anymore if they found pleasure in the fact that she was worried.

"She is in Europe, on a mission." Said the woman. "She is perfectly safe. You have no need to worry."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Margaret said. "Where in Europe is she?"

"You'll never catch her." Piped one of the black-clad people. She sounded young. "All flights to Paris are booked." Margaret narrowed her eyes.

The woman with the black hair swung around and smacked the girl upside the head, knocking her down. "Shut up, AM6." She said. "You need to know when to keep you mouth shut. No reading for a week."

AM6 looked up at the woman in pleadingly. "Please, no!" she said. "I promise that I'll be good! Please? Not for a week!"

"Yes for a week! Now shut up!" AM6 hung her head in defeat and stood up meekly.

"Yes, ma'am." She said softly.

Then Margaret interrupted them. "It doesn't matter if all flights are booked. I'll stow away if I have to, but I'll have my daughter." With that, she didn't wait for an explanation or permission, but just pushed her way through and ran out the door. She jumped in her car and started to drive away.

But just as she did, she passed another vehicle coming towards her. Inside, sitting behind the wheel, was Mr. Johnson! She slammed on the breaks. Mr. Johnson seemed to notice her, and turned. The shock on his face was evident.

Margaret didn't wait for him to try to drive away. She turned off her car and jumped out.

"WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, JOHNSON?" She screamed. He tried to unbuckle his seatbelt and get away, but she grabbed his collar and dragged him out of the vehicle.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN MESS WITH ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT?" Margaret bellowed in his ear.

He shook his head. "No, ma'am." He whimpered

"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT YOU CAN'T!" Then Margaret's voice went dangerously low. "Have you ever seen what a mother bear will do when a hunter goes after her cubs?" She asked he shook his head. He was not one for the learning channel. "Then I'll show you." She said. But then a thought came to mind.

"I'll tell you what," Margaret hissed in his face. "You take me to my daughter, and I **won't** break your neck. Do we have a deal?" Mr. Johnson nodded and Margaret dragged him over to her car. She shoved him into the passenger seat and ordered him to buckle up. His hands shook as he obeyed. Then she climbed into the driver's seat and buckled her own seatbelt.

"I don't suppose you have a certain spot available on the next flight to Paris, do you?" She asked menacingly. His whole body shook. He reached into his jacket and pulled out two tickets. Margaret snatched them both.

"I don't need two, but there's no way I'm going to let you keep them only to send someone after me. If you're employer wants to try to kill me once I've disposed of you, he can at least pay for it himself." Mr. Johnson looked at her, horrified at her insinuation.

Margaret smiled at him. "I never did show you what a mother bear will do to protect her cubs, did I?"

**A/N: Review, please! And thank you to all of you who read my fic. bows Thank you, thank you! But, seriously, thank you for reviewing. Your opinions mean a lot to me.**


	8. Inside the Opera Populaire

Wandering Child

Chapter 8- Inside the Opera Populaire

**A/N: There will most likely be some French sentences some of the next chapters. The translations will be at the end of each chapter. They will be in order of how they are written. The French parts are underlined.**

-

I strolled down the streets of Paris in a daze. I had no idea where I was going. AM3 and AM4 were walking in front of me. I saw people milling about on the streets, going about their daily lives. A man was buying groceries from a vendor, a woman was pushing a stroller with a screaming baby in it, and I could see at least a hundred tourists taking pictures on every block.

All of a sudden, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a woman ask me something in French. I was glad that I was forced to take French Immersion classes in my Junior High years.

"Pardon, Madame?" I asked.

"S'il vous plait," The woman said. "Mais, pouvez vous prendre une photo de moi et mon ami?" She held out a camera.

"Oui." I said. "Mais, une moment s'il vous plait." I turned and called out to AM3 and AM4. "Wait a second, guys." I saw them turn and AM4 looked at me and sighed heavily.

I turned back to the lady and she and her friend put their heads close together and smiled broadly. I took the picture, and I heard a buzzing sound. It was an old camera, not a digital, and I knew what that sound meant. It meant that the film was full and no more pictures could be taken. I explained this to the woman and she thanked me very rapidly. Then she and her friend walked off talking and laughing.

I turned back to see AM3 and AM4 frowning and looking irritated. "What?" I asked.

"You're supposed to stay incognito, remember?" AM4 hissed.

"You need to lighten up." I said, looking at him mildly. "The world is not going to come to an end if I take someone's picture for them."

"And you need to realize the gravity of the situation." AM3 said sternly. "We are here to retrieve our much-needed friend, and your acting like a regular tourist!"

"Well, it is Paris." I said. "La ville d'amour."

"It's also where the Opera Populaire is. Now come on! We don't want to be late for our appointment." AM3 grabbed my arm and half dragged me along the crowded streets.

"What appointment?" I asked as I felt my arm go numb.

"We have made an appointment with the owner of the Opera Populaire. He thinks that we are architects." AM4 said. **_I wonder if my arm will fall off if AM3 keeps pulling on it. _**I mused.

"You will pretend to be my little sister so as not to arouse suspicion." I nodded, but AM4 couldn't see me.

"Okay." I said. Then I abruptly changed the subject. "I can't feel my arm." I said. AM3 let go of me.

"Don't lag behind." She said. "We want to be there on time."

"Acting as architects will allow us to be able to go into the bowels of the Opera Populaire. Those tunnels are extremely difficult to navigate, so you have to stay with us at all times, alright?" AM3 said.

"Okay." I said, rubbing my arm as it hung limply beside me. "But how will you get the time machine into the tunnels?"

"It's portable." AM4 answered.

"Then how come it has a cloak?" I asked.

"Well, it's not so much of a cloak as it is something that allows the machine to become very, very small." AM4 replied.

"Then why did you call it a cloak?" I asked.

"You ask a lot of questions." AM3 commented.

"And you don't answer many." I said.

"We answer all of them." AM4 said.

"But you don't give me the answers that I want." I said.

"That's not our problem." AM3 replied.

"Yes it is." I said.

"No it isn't." She argued.

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"ENOUGH!" AM4 thundered. "I don't want to hear any more arguing. Is that clear?"

"Yes." AM3 said meekly.

"No." I said to piss off AM4.

"Yes." AM3 said angrily at me.

"No." I said snottily to her.

"SHUT UP!" AM4 yelled, and we both jumped. AM3 winked at me and I winked back. We both knew that AM4 was just too uptight, and it was too tempting not to tease him. I suspected that it was probably the most fun AM3 had had in a while.

After a long pause, AM3 slowed down to be able to talk to me a little more privately.

"Is there anything I can call you besides 'AM3'?" I asked.

"Well," She said slowly. "I still remember my name from before I joined the Council of Music." I looked expectantly at her. "It was Joleen."

She looked down at her hands. "My Mom would sometimes call me Joey, though. She would say it teasingly." She paused and then looked me straight in the eye. "You can call me Joey." She said.

"Okay, Joey." I said. "But that means that you have to call me by my name."

Joey smiled. "Okay, Rebecca." She said. "But please don't call me Joey in front of the rest of the Council. They would demote me again."

"What do you mean again?" I asked. But before she could answer, AM4 stopped and turned to us.

"This is the Opera Populaire." He said, and moved away so I could see better.

There's only one word to describe the Opera. Magnificent. It was enormous. It looked to be about the size of a football stadium. It had flowing archways, gilded carvings, and even gargoyles. I had never seen gargoyles up close, and I hoped that I would get a chance to.

I would have stood in front of the Opera Populaire forever, gaping like a loon, if Joey hadn't grabbed my arm and dragged me inside.

When we walked inside, I gaped at the interior. (**A/N: Just so everyone knows, this is from my imagination. I don't know how it really looks.**) There was an enormous painting on the ceiling of the Opera. It was a painting of cherubs flying among clouds. Every detail was put in it. Including the cherubs' wings. I could see every individual feather.

AM4 walked up to the front desk and introduce himself as Mr. Smith and Joey as his colleague, Miss. Beaumont. **_Does he not know that Smith is not a French name?_** I asked myself. Then he introduced me.

"This is my sister, Marie. She is interning with my business." He beckoned me over.

"Hi." I said, and shook her hand. **_Play the part of an intern, Rebecca._** I told myself. "You have an incredible amount of architecture." I commented. "I was looking at the carvings outside. It must have been very difficult for the people to make such beautiful carvings in the eighteen-hundreds."

"Actually," The woman said. Her nametag said, 'Jenny'. "There was a fire here in the late nineteenth century, and the whole thing was practically burned to the ground. But in the early twentieth century, someone bought the place and had it redone. It looks almost exactly the same as it did before the fire."

"Fascinating." I said with enthusiasm that I did not feel, and looked up as though I were examining the ceiling.

"Monsieur Richard is waiting for you in his office. It's just à votre gauche." She said. Then she pointed.

"Thank you." AM4 said, and turned right.

"Ummm," I said. "You might want to go the other way."

"Why?" AM4 asked, and stopped in front of a wooden door with a gilded doorframe.

"Because," I said. "She said it's to your left, not right."

AM4 turned red with embarrassment. "I know that." He snapped, and turned in the right direction. Joey and I followed.

As we passed the front desk again, I called out to the secretary, "Merci, Mademoiselle."

The secretary looked up and called back to me, "De rien."

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed that. Review, please! And here are the translations:**

**1) Pardon, ma'am?**

**2) Could you please take a picture of my friend and me?**

**3) Yes, but one moment please.**

**4) The city of love.**

**5) To your left.**

**6) Thank you, Miss.**

**7) Your welcome.**


	9. Monsieur Richard

Wandering Child

Chapter 9- Monsieur Richard

AM4 knocked on the door that the secretary had indicated. "Come in." Said a voice with a very thick French accent.

AM4 opened the door to reveal a very large office. There was a desk centered at the wall opposite the door, and behind it, sitting on a leather, reclining, chair, was M. Richard.

M. Richard was a large man with a balding head. He looked a bit like a balloon that has been filled with too much water. His gray hair could be found only on the sides of his head, and he covered his bald spot with a very low-quality toupee. It made him look older, rather than younger. The main reason for this was because of the fact that his wig was brown, while the rest of his hair was a mousy gray. He had styled his toupee in a hideous comb-over and was wearing a fancy, tailored outfit that made him look very much like a poor man who is trying to appear rich.

Hanging from inside his left pocket, by a gold chain, was a gold -painted pocket watch. Some of the paint was peeling, and underneath rust could be seen. He picked it up and squinted at it before shaking his head and putting it back it in his pocket.

As he stood, his whole belly seemed to ripple and quiver. The pocket watch fell out of his pocket and hung, swinging, by the chain. He didn't seem to notice. When he walked towards us, he reminded me of a peacock. He didn't walk. He strutted.

He reached out one pudgy hand and grabbed mine, shaking it vigorously. At first I didn't understand why he shook my hand first. It obviously annoyed the hell out of AM4. Then I caught the glint in his eyes. I inwardly shuddered, and gracefully removed my hand from his sweaty palm. That was the very first time I regretted being eighteen.

"I'm M. Richard." He said, looking directly at me for a moment before glancing at AM4 and AM3.

While we had been on the plane, AM4 and AM3 had changed into less conspicuous outfits. They both now wore jeans, and T-shirts. However, they kept their masks on. M. Richard didn't seem to notice.

Then, AM4 intervened. He stepped in front of me so as to be able to get M. Richard's full attention. I could have hugged him.

"M. Richard." He said. "I am Mr. Smith. This is my colleague, Miss Beaumont." He gestured to Joey, who was standing very close beside him. She held out her hand, but M. Richard ignored her. AM4 cleared his throat before continuing.

"We represent the Beaumont Architectural Corporation." He paused before stepping aside. He put his arm around me protectively. "This is my little sister, Marie." He put special emphasis on the word, 'sister'. M. Richard either didn't notice, or didn't care. He just stared at me. I thought that he was probably staring at me in the same way he would look at a piece of pie.

"She's sixteen and is doing a project on architecture in Paris" AM4 continued. He had put special emphasis on the age. Once again, he had come to my rescue. This time, M. Richard seemed to hear him.

"Oh, yes." He said, as though he'd never heard of or seen AM4 before. He finally pulled his gaze away from me.

"What can I do for you, Monsieur?" He asked AM4.

"We have an appointment to speak with you about the architecture of the Opera." Joey said, stepping closer to me. I was only slightly shorter than Joey, but AM4 dwarfed me. He was definitely over six feet tall. But not only was he tall, he was a well-built guy too. He probably could have played professional football if he didn't run the risk of losing his mask.

M. Richard licked his lips thoughtfully. He gave me one last mournful glance before turning around to sit down in his chair. The chair looked like it had taken a lot of abuse, and was ready to fall over. Somehow, though, it managed to hold his weight.

As for M. Richard's desk, it was in shambles. Aside from the food stains dotting the top, the desk itself was in fairly good condition. The finish had been rubbed away in some places, but the general piece looked like it hadn't suffered too much damage.

The problem with his desk was not the condition of the furniture itself, but the condition of what was on the furniture. There were papers strewn everywhere, and used plastic cups, forks, and knives were strewn all over the large desk, and all over the papers. He had stacks of paper that looked as though they were about to topple over, and there was a brown stain on a mug that looked as though it had once been edible.

The whole room stank like an undead monkey's cage, and looked like a tornado had blown through. To top it all off, there was a garbage can beside the desk that was completely empty. It was obvious that M. Richard was a lazy slob.

M. Richard swept away an entire pile of papers off of his desk. The papers came crashing to the floor. M. Richard looked at the mess he had made with only mild interest before turning his attention to AM4 and AM3. He gestured for us to sit down in the not-so-clean guest chairs. I perched on the end of mine.

"You say you have an appointment. I don't know of any such appointment." M. Richard leaned back and the chair groaned beneath his weight. He scratched the exposed part of his belly and farted loudly. It stank up the room even more.

I could no longer stand seeing him sitting there, acting like a slob, without any consideration for his guests. Whether he though we were uninvited or not, it's still good manners to have your office in at least a somewhat presentable order. If he did one more disgusting, slovenly thing, I was going to give him a piece of my mind.

M. Richard leaned forward as AM4 began to speak.

"We were specifically invited by you personally, M. Richard." AM4 said. M. Richard didn't seem to be paying any attention. He picked something out from under his fingernail and looked at it.

"Je ne souviens pas a manger ca." He muttered in French and ate whatever it was that he had dug out from under his nail.

I had had enough. I stood up. "I'm Sorry, Monsieur." I said. "Mais Je ne peut pas tolerer ces types d'actions. C'est terrible!" I started shouting and swearing in French. "Vous, Monsieur, vous êtes l'homme le plus stupide que j'ai vue dans toute de ma vie! Vous avez une poubelle just à côté de votre bureau, et vous n'utiliserez pas! C'est encroyable! Vous êtes, probablement, la personne la plus dégoûtant au monde! Je ne peut pas rester ici!" And with that, I left the office. I stood outside it, and leaned against the wall.

After a few minutes, Joey came out and leaned against the wall beside me. We said nothing for several moments. Joey was the one to break the silence.

"I didn't know you could speak such fluent French." She commented. "Such a colorful language."

"I'm not going back in there." I stated, pushing myself off of the wall. "He's a slovenly, unkempt, overweight, perverted balloon of a man, and he looks at me as though I were a dessert at an all-you-can-eat buffet." I said with extreme emphasis.

Suddenly, someone touched my shoulder. I jumped, and whirled around. "Oh." I said. "It's just you." It was the secretary, Jenny.

"Pardoner-moi." She said. "But I couldn't help but over hear your conversation. I felt that I should explain something to you about M. Richard. It's true that he is very rude and has no manners, but he also has a lot of power in Paris, believe it or not. He owns a large estate outside the city and has many friends in power. It would be wise not to offend him." She looked at me seriously.

"You're joking, right?" I asked. She shook her head. "That is not a man." I said. "That is a disgusting alien who has taken over a man's body. I'd bet you a thousand Euros that if someone told him that fried food was healthy for you, he'd be dead from clogged arteries within a week."

"Well, that may be." she said. "But he still has a lot of power."

Joey stopped me from answering and said politely, "Thank you, Mademoiselle for your advice." Jenny nodded and returned to her desk.

"I'll tell you one thing," Joey said, looking at me seriously. "I'll never want to eat a hamburger again as long as I live." She smiled and we laughed together. It felt good to have a friend.

**A/N: M. Richard is a pervert. I thought it would make it more interesting if I added something a little different. Another one of life's little obstacles. In answer to the question you are probably wondering, yes I speak French. I based most of the main character on myself (except for the skinny part). Here are the translations:**

**1) I don't remember eating that.**

**2) But I can't tolerate these kinds of actions. It's terrible! You, sir, you are the stupidest man I have ever met in my entire life! You have a garbage right next to your desk, and you don't even use it! It's incredible! You are probably the most disgusting person on the planet! I can't stay here.**

**3) Pardon me.**


	10. Time Travel

Wandering Child

Chapter 10- Time Travel

M. Richard had given AM4 a map to follow so we could go under the Opera house and "examine the architecture" of the Opera. Joey and I followed him into a room that was a short ways off of the stage. Inside the room, there was a dresser, a bed, and many objects that would be used for getting ready to go on stage. There was an assortment of pots of makeup, and all kinds of brushes. AM4 led us through a trap door that was cleverly concealed by a full-length mirror that covered an entire wall.

Joey held a torch and I walked in between her and AM4. The tunnel was wide enough for us all to walk side-by-side.

"Where, exactly are we going?" I asked as we walked down the long, dark corridors.

"We are going," AM4 said. "To an area of the Opera where it will be easy for you to locate our Opera Ghost." He stopped and took the torch from Joey. He crouched down and looked at the ground.

"There's one square here that doesn't look quite right." He said. "I think we're at the right spot." He turned to me. "Can you swim?" He asked.

"Nope." I said bluntly. "Can't even float. Why?"

Instead of answering my question, he muttered something that I didn't understand, and straightened. "Well," he said. "You're going to learn soon enough."

"Are you sure?" I asked, misunderstanding his meaning. "I mean, what if I don't come back? And then there's the question of how I'll pay for the lessons. I don't have a job, and-what are you doing?"

AM4 was opening his backpack and pulling out a belt. It was the strangest belt I had ever seen. It was made entirely of metal, and there was a keypad on it. It was numbered from one to nine. AM4 handed me the belt, and I took it.

"Is this your time machine?" I asked.

"Yes." He said. Joey waved the torch around. AM4 had handed it back to her so he could get the belt. He zipped up the backpack and shouldered it. The he folded up the map and handed it to me. But not before he marked a little red 'x' on the paper.

"This," He said, taking the belt from me. "Is your time machine. The keypad is here." He pointed to it. "There are over fifty different combinations, and three numbers in each combination. Make sure you don't press the wrong combination. You could end up making it shrink while it's around your waist. That could suffocate you."

"Oh, well that makes me feel so much better about it." I said sarcastically. "Now I have options of how to die. Let's see...should I take death from suffocation, or death from being strangled by the Phantom's lasso? I wonder if there might end up to be a third way in which you would like to kill me?" I crossed my arms as AM4 tossed the belt to Joey, who showed me how to fasten it around my waist.

As soon as it was buckled, I felt heavier. Joey punched in a combination and I felt the belt hum underneath me.

"What did you just do?" I asked. But, a moment later, I got my answer. A white fabric covering suddenly slipped over the belt. The only part that was left exposed was the keypad. "Never mind." I said, and Joey smiled wryly.

"I am going to write down the combinations that you will need to make it shrink, then grow larger, and then come home." She said, scribbling on a notepad.

"How will I bring the Phantom back, on the off chance that he might actually agree to this insane plan?" I asked, peering over Joey's shoulder. "And can you tell me how it works?" I added. "You know, in case I forget the combinations, or lose the paper somewhere."

"There are three numbers in each combination." AM4 began. "When you want to make the machine shrink, you press only three numbers. When you want it to become large again, you just press the same combination, but in reverse."

"Makes sense." I commented.

"When you want to time travel," AM4 continued. "You have to press a combination of five numbers."

"I think about what you're saying, and I'm drawing a blank." I said in a robot-like voice. "Repeat the instructions, and I will repeat what I have just said. I advise you to change your tactics and try to explain the concept in another fashion."

"What don't you get?" He asked.

"Why do you punch in five numbers?" I asked as I adjusted the belt. It was really much too heavy. "I thought you were supposed to punch in three."

"Three numbers per combination." AM4 corrected. "You weren't listening. When you want to time travel, you have to press five because it's a double combination. As well, the combination depends on what time you want to go to."

"Last time I checked, three times two was six, not five." I said matter-of-factly.

"It's not a complete double." Joey answered. She handed me the notepad and a journal.

"What's this for?" I asked, holding up the journal.

"It's so you can record what goes on." Joey replied. "You, know, observations, and the like." Then she pointed to the sequences on the paper. "The first four numbers are the year. This machine is not as advanced at to be able to take you into the B.C. Era, so you don't need to worry about that."

She curled her hair behind her ears. Her blond hair was cropped short, and slicked back. A few strands of hair had fallen out of place. Then she continued. "For you, you'll be going into the year 1870."

"If I want to know what year it is, I'll ask someone when I get there." I interrupted.

"If you do, it could make you look like an idiot." AM4 warned.

"I don't care." I said.

"By the way," AM4 added. "In answer to your other question, as long as Erik is touching you when you activate the time portal, you'll be able to take him with you." He peered off into the darkness.

"And remember," Joey said, looking me straight in the eye. "Don't mess with the events until **_after_** Christine has betrayed him and left with Raoul. If you do, it could change the whole story."

I nodded and looked at the combinations on the piece of paper in my hand. I quickly memorized the combination to get to the year 1870, and then put the slip of paper in my pocket.

"Well, I guess I should get going." I said, and reached to plug in the combination.

"Wait!" Joey cried, and opened her bag. I paused as she pulled out a dress. "You have to put this on first." She handed me the dress and I looked pointedly at AM4.

"Oh, very well." He said. "You can put it on here." He turned around and I undressed. I kept a close eye on him as Joey helped me into the dress.

"Okay," I said. "You can turn around now." He turned around and a did a pirouette for him and Joey. "How do I look?" I asked.

"You look great." Joey said enthusiastically. I looked at AM4 expectantly. He said nothing. Joey elbowed him in the ribs.

"You look fine." He said gruffly. Joey winked at me and I smiled at her. **_The sky blue coloring is perfect for me_**, I thought.

Joey handed me a couple of pens and a pencil. "For marking your way on the map. And for writing in your journal." She said.

"Thanks." I said, and gave her a hug. As we embraced, I whispered in her ear, "If this doesn't work, it's not the end of the world. Remember, you are beautiful no matter what you look like. It's not outer beauty that makes you precious; it's the inner beauty." I released her and I saw tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.

"Well," I said. "This is it. Don't wait up for me, eh?" I said, smiling. Then I punched in the numbers.

The tunnel suddenly became very windy, and my hair was blown back in my face. I turned around and saw the same blackness. I looked back at Joey and AM4 and saw their forms fading.

I gave one last wave before they disappeared completely. As soon as their forms were gone, so was the light that had been given off by the torch. I was in complete blackness. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm not scared of the dark, it just makes me uncomfortable.

Okay, so maybe I'm a little scared.

**A/N: Having fun? I know I am. Review, please!**


	11. Erik

Wandering Child

Chapter 11- Erik

**A/N: I have based Erik's appearance off of the movie. He looks like Gerry Butler. The actual lair is based off of the book.**

-

Erik was just finishing writing a letter to the managers of the Opera Populaire when the room suddenly became chilly. A great gust of wind blew in from the lake. He shivered and wrapped his cloak more firmly around his shoulders.

The managers of the Opera Populaire would not be able to refuse his demands after he delivered these notes. They would be in utter terror of what might come. **_Not to mention that pompous windbag of a Vicomte._** Erik chuckled softly to himself at the thought of the unnerved look that would be on Raoul de Chagny's face when he read the letter. Yes, things were going quite smoothly.

Christine would sing that night. He would make sure of it personally.

-

I shivered in the darkness. I'll admit, I hate the dark. And, without light, I couldn't make it back the way we had come. If I couldn't go back, my only option was to go forward. Something like that could be disastrous. However, I had no other alternative. It was either that, or wait until the Phantom happened to come my way and strangle me from behind.

I decided to go forward. Better he think that I just got lost looking for a prop or something than have him think that I was actually waiting for him. I had forgotten all about AM4 and Joey's warning about not interfering with the events until **_after_** Christine left the Phantom.

I took one step forward and fell. I was sliding down a small tube-like thing. It was made of metal. I screamed.

As soon as I looked down, I saw a shimmering blue. "Aw, shit." I said, and plunged headlong into the water. I floundered as I tried to reach the surface. I hadn't a clue how to swim.

**_Well, I can add another alternative to that list._** I thought. I had no time to dwell on the matter, though, because as soon as I opened my eyes under the water, I saw something dark coming towards me. I shut my eyes again and tried to do a sort of frog-swim upwards. It didn't work.

My lungs screamed for air and my head began to pound. I knew that there was only one way to prolong drowning, and that was to stop trying to swim to the surface. I stopped moving, and I felt myself begin to sink. I prayed, then, that God would save me. I didn't want to die.

My lungs were near to bursting, and I felt the world around me begin to fade. Just before I slipped into unconsciousness, I saw a blurry face coming towards me. **_Save me_**, I thought, and everything became dark.

-

Erik was startled out of his thoughts by a clanging sound. The alarm had been triggered. Someone was in his lake.

He rose from his seat and crossed the room to the door. He traveled through the rooms of his house and swung open the front door. He dived under the water without a second thought.

He had to get to whoever it was before the lake monster did. It was possible that it was Christine. Although very unlikely, the possibility was still there, and he didn't want to lose Christine to the serpent.

As Erik swam deeper into the lake, he caught a glimpse of the monster. It was heading towards a small dark shape. The shape was struggling to swim upwards, but obviously couldn't. The serpent looked at him sleepily. It didn't like being disturbed from its' slumber.

Erik shook his head at the beast, and it turned back the way it had come. Erik headed towards the person. They had stopped struggling and were beginning to sink.

Erik's powerful arms brought him to the person in mere seconds. He saw immediately that the person was female. She was wearing a blue dress that was tied around her waist with a white ribbon. Her blond hair was cut short and she was wearing a delicate necklace around her neck.

All of this, he saw in seconds. He wrapped one strong arm around her waist and brought her to the surface of the lake. Her body was limp against his and he had to support her head against his shoulder. She was so small and slight that, from afar, she could have easily been mistaken for a child. Erik knew better, though. She was obviously somewhere around Christine's age.

He held her head above the water and used one arm to bring her to shore. They were a ways away from his house, but he would easily be able to make it while carrying the girl. The more important question was whether or not she was still breathing. If she wasn't, then there really wasn't any point in saving her. If she was, then he would be able to find out why she was there in the first place.

Erik reached his house in record time and dragged the girl's limp body onto shore. Before he brought her inside-**IF** he brought her inside-he would have to find out whether or not she was alive.

He lay her down on her back on the ground and put his ear to her face. He felt a slight tickling on his cheek. Satisfied that she was still alive, he began to push down on her stomach to remove any water that she might have breathed in. (**A/N: His version of CPR, but without the mouth-to-mouth.**)

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the girl coughed and rolled over onto her side and spit up water.

The girl sat up fully and took several deep breaths before looking around. As soon as she saw him, she gave a sigh of relief and lay back down on the ground.

-

I coughed and spewed water on the ground. **_Am I dead?_** I asked myself. I looked up at a shimmering lake. **_Nope,_** I thought. **_I'm still alive._** I took several deep breaths and looked around.

I raised my self on my arms and looked around. In an instant, I saw him. He looked almost exactly as Joey had described him. He was tall, and was wearing a white shirt that was slightly open and showed a bit of his chest. His hands were gloved and he was wearing black boots. His legs were clad in black pants, and he was wearing a white mask on the right side of his face.

I sighed, relieved, and lay back down on the ground. I was glad to have been saved. I sat up again and looked at him. That was when I noticed his cruel stare. I remembered about his lasso and my eyes darted to his hands. They were empty. I returned his gaze, defiantly. His face held no surprise, but his green eyes gave him away.

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to make myself sound a little scared. That part wasn't too hard; I was scared. He said nothing and continued to glare at me. I pretended to be uncomfortable, and I shifted my gaze.

I tried to ask another question. "Where am I?" Again, he said nothing.

Then he stood up. He reached behind him and I saw something black. My heartbeat quickened, and I immediately raised my hand to the level of my eyes. I pretended as though I did that because I thought he was going to strike me. I turned my head away.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him pull out a black rope. At least, I hoped it was a rope. He flicked his wrist and I ducked. That was a mistake. He then knew right away that I had been warned about him. The only logical conclusion to draw from that would be that I had come here on purpose.

I kept my head completely turned away, even as I felt the whip sail past my ear. I lowered my arm so as to steady myself. I heard the crack of the whip, and it encircled my neck. Immediately, the whip tightened, and I made a gagging, coughing, sound.

"Why are you here?" He hissed in a deep voice, as he tightened the whip around my neck.

I gagged and managed to choke out sarcastically, "Hello to you, too." I tried to pry the lasso away from my neck with my fingers.

The lasso tightened even more around my throat. "Answer me." He growled.

"I-" My voice broke off and I felt myself begin to lose consciousness. **_I knew it would be death by lasso_**, I thought wryly.

I felt Erik's breath tickle my cheek as he leaned in to whisper menacingly, "Tell me, or die."

"I-can't-breath-" I gagged and a gurgling noise came up from somewhere deep in my throat.

Erik removed the lasso from around my neck just before I fell unconscious. I collapsed onto the stone floor, coughing and gasping for breath. Erik stood over me, holding the whip menacingly. The situation didn't exactly look as though it was in my favor. I wondered if now would be a good time to scream.

-

Erik was extremely angry. The girl was obviously someone who had been here before. She acted as though she was familiar with the place. And the way she had raised her hand to the level of her eyes was very suspicious. No one had ever sighed in relief when they saw him. No one but her.

When he released her from the lasso's grip, she fell to the ground, coughing and breathing heavily. There was something about her that frightened him.

Fear. It was not a new feeling for him. He had felt frightened before. When he had been part of a circus, when people had laughed at him, when that terrible man had beaten him, called him names.

That man had shown Erik how worthless he truly was, how he was just something that had been created for other people's perverted pleasure and entertainment. Erik had killed him for it. Erik had enjoyed watching that man die. He had relished the horrified look on his face when he saw that the "monster" wasn't as dumb as had been thought. He was smart. That was something that Erik had always prided himself on: being smart.

But this girl wasn't like the man from the freak show at the circus. She frightened him in another way. It wasn't anything that she did to hurt him that made him feel fear again. It was the fact that she openly defied him; that she was obviously not afraid of him. At least, not in the same way as the others who had seen him.

Erik hauled her up onto her feet and she swayed on unsteady legs. He looked her up and down briefly. She was a short, skinny thing and her damp hair was plastered to her wet forehead. She glared at him in obvious defiance.

"Why are you here?" He demanded again.

"I got lost." She replied haughtily, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

Erik examined her appearance and the manner in which she carried herself. She certainly had the figure of a ballet rat. But the ballet rats where terrified of him. Even that bimbo daughter of Mme. Giry's.

"You need to dry off." Erik stated matter-of-factly. He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards his house. He would have to find out why she was really there later. In the meantime, it couldn't hurt to let her in his home. It wasn't like he was going to show her the torture chamber.

-

If there was one thing I knew, it was that Erik was not happy about my arrival. I just hoped he wasn't planning on shoving me in the torture chamber that Joey had warned me about.

**A/N: I apologize to all those of you who like Meg, but I think she's a self-absorbed bimbo without an intelligent brain cell to speak of. Review, please!**


	12. Answers & Feelings of Affection

Wandering Child

Chapter 12- Answers & Feelings of Affection

Margaret had reached the airport in record time. Even with the detour she had made to get some rope from the hardware store, tie up Mr. Johnson, and throw him in a worker shed at the city dump, she still reached the airport on time to catch the flight.

But the flight had been delayed due to a malfunction in the plane. This was not what Margaret had planned for. She was yelling at the lady behind the counter for some answers, and the lady didn't seem to be willing to give her any.

"Listen, lady," Margaret said rudely. "I don't have time for your nonsensical jibber-jabber. My daughter is in trouble, and she needs me. So either you get that plane up and running right now, or I get put on another flight to Paris. Either way, I'm going to Paris."

"I'm sorry, ma' am," The woman apologized. "But there's nothing I can do. You'll just have to wait like everybody else."

Margaret was about to give a snotty reply, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see one of the black-clad people from the warehouse. She gave the woman an angry stare and turned back to the woman behind the checkout.

"Listen," She said. "I don't care if-What do you want?" She turned back around because the woman in black had tapped her on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry," the woman said to the flight attendant. "She hasn't had her medicine yet." Then she led Margaret away from the counter.

"I don not require medication." Margaret hissed as the woman half-dragged her out of the airport and to an unmarked van.

"You will if you don't shut up and follow me." Came the angry reply.

As soon as they reached the van, the woman (who was much stranger than Margaret) pushed her into the vehicle. Then the woman shut the door, and climbed into the passenger seat. Seated in the driver's spot was Mr. Johnson. He looked very smug as he started the van and drove out of the airport parking lot.

He drove the van straight back to the warehouse and parked it inside a small shed. The large vehicle barely fit, and it was difficult for Margaret to squeeze out of the van. Margaret was led into the warehouse where she was seated at the head of a long rectangular table with an interesting emblem on it.

As soon as the woman was seated down, all eyes turned to Margaret.

"What's going on?"' She asked nervously. The woman on her left was the one who had brought her, and she shoved a book in front of Margaret. Margaret picked up the book and read the title. **_The Phantom of the Opera_**.

"What's this?" She asked, holding the book up questioningly.

"That," Said the man to her right. "Is why your daughter is not at home. She has volunteered to do a job for us. One that is very important."

"And what job would that be?" Margaret asked, somewhat encouraged by the fact that they were taking the time to explain it to her.

"A job that may very well save our lives." The woman to her left said. Margaret prepared herself for a long discussion.

But first, she had a few questions to ask. "Who are you?" She queried.

"We," Said the woman. "Are the Council of Music. We are all deformed and have either been born that way, or there was an accident that caused us to appear the way we do now." She folded her hands together in preparation for a long speech.

"We come from many different cities, and states." She continued. "There are Councils all over the country; Councils that are made up of the young and the old, and those in between. We have all been shunned in our lives, and your daughter has gone on a mission that will allow us to be accepted into society again. For some of us, it will be the first time that other's have accepted us for who we are. For others, it won't be the first time."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Margaret said.

"I am AM2" Said the man on her right.

"And I am AM1." The woman said. "We all have designating numbers that identify us with our cause and purpose."

"And that would be...?" Margaret offered.

"The Phantom of the Opera." Said the woman.

"Who is...?"

AM1 then proceeded to explain about the Phantom and why Rebecca was in Paris. (**A/N: I'm not writing it b/c I'm feeling kind of lazy right now, and everyone already knows why Rebecca went to Paris, and how Erik is involved.)**

"So you're telling me that my daughter has gone to France so she can go back in time to bring back a deformed man that you worship like a God because you believe that it will save you?" Margaret asked incredulously.

"Yes." Said AM1

"You got to be kidding me." Margaret said. She did **not** believe that something like that could be true. However, Margaret didn't know that she was about to find out just how wrong she was.

-

Joey sat down on the damp stone floor. It had been hours. **_Where is she?_** She asked. Rebecca should have been back by now. It wasn't like her to be late. Then again, Joey had only known Rebecca for a short period of time. She had no idea what might be happening. For all she knew, Rebecca had already met Erik and he had destroyed the time machine.

Joey stood up. The ground was too hard and it was hurting her butt. AM4 had found a holder and had rested the torch there for the time being. She wondered what the silent young man was thinking.

-

AM4 stood quietly in the dim light. He hated being in this tunnel. It made him think of what life had been like before he had joined the council. Before he had been deformed.

He recalled the first time his parents let him stay up until eight o'clock at night. It had been on his sixth birthday. He had had all his friends over for a big party during the day, and was able to watch a movie until eight at night. It had been a special day.

Unfortunately, a few days later his parents died in a car crash. He had been given up for adoption, but no one had wanted him.

He had tried to commit suicide. As a six year-old boy, he had tried to commit suicide. He had started the fire that had burned off half of his face. He had felt so unloved and so despised. He had prayed for a miracle.

Then, like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day, AM2 had come along. He had brought AM4 to the join the Council of Music. There, he had finally found acceptance. He had finally found something worth living for. He had found love.

The woman he loved had no idea about his feelings for her; he hid them well. But he knew that he would have to tell her the truth at one point or another. AM3 had to know how he felt about her.

He liked her real name better than her designating number. He thought the name, Joleen, to be a very pretty name. And it belonged to someone who was with him at that very moment. He wished he had the courage to speak up, but he was a coward.

If there was one thing he regretted, it was that he had been a coward all his life. He never thought that he would be good enough for Joey. No, she deserved someone much more brave than him. AM4 wished he could say something, anything. Finally, he plucked up the courage.

"You can call me David." He said, and Joey looked up and smiled at him.

**A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter, but I wanted to elaborate on some things before getting into more detail on Rebecca's point of view (and Erik's). Review, please!**


	13. Secrets

Wandering Child

Chapter 13- Secrets

I sat in front of a warm cozy fire with a rug wrapped around me. I shivered despite the warmth I now felt coursing through my veins. I could sense him behind me. He was watching my every move. He didn't trust me. I didn't blame him.

I turned slightly and looked at him. He seemed to be staring straight ahead, but I knew better. He was watching me, waiting for me to try something.

"I had no idea that someone was living down here." I said, trying to break the ice. I recalled what Joey had said about not interfering. It was too late for that, so I figured that I might as well try to befriend him.

"Why were you in my lake?" He asked stiffly.

"Because I fell, and I can't swim if my life depended on it. Which, coincidently, it did." I paused, trying to seem nervous and uncomfortable. "I want to thank you for saving me." I said.

He made a growling sound from deep within his throat and turned away. Then I made the mistake of saying something when silence was needed.

"You don't have to feel ashamed, you know. It was a noble thing." I looked at him seriously and he turned his head in my direction slowly.

I watched his face for a sign of a reaction, but it was kind of difficult when the side I was looking at was covered by a mask.

"Who are you?" He asked me.

"My name is Rebecca." I said. "I just turned eighteen, but don't get any ideas."

He turned to face me fully and he gave me a queer look.

"That was a joke." I said. He seemed unmoved. "Okay, so it wasn't a very good joke."

"No, it wasn't." He stated. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I hadn't thought that Erik would be so stubborn to even take part in a simple conversation.

-

Erik looked at her with contempt. She was trying to strike up a conversation, but he didn't want to talk. **_Why did I let her into my house?_** He asked himself. He thought her to be the most overly perky thing he'd ever met.

He examined her without seeming to do so. He noticed that her eyes were a misty gray-blue color and that her hair was much too short for an eighteen year-old girl.

Erik remembered how Christine had performed that night. He had wished for her to be the one to sing from the beginning, but those blasted managers were a couple of bumbling idiots.

Rebecca wrapped her arms around herself and stared into the fire. Then she surprised him. She started to sing.

He froze. The words. He had heard those words before. He had thought that it had been just a dream.

"**_The darkness is all around._**

_**The air is thick;**_

**_I can't breath._**"

The air seemed to thicken around him. He remembered those words from his dream. He remembered feeling lost and alone until he heard those words. He remembered thinking that it had been Christine who had sung those words. He now knew he was wrong.

"**_The darkness keeps closing in,_**

_**I can't seem to find**_

_**That special piece of mind**_

_**That will break these chains**_

_**Of mine.**_

"**_Let's light a candle,_**

_**A wavering flame.**_

_**This is my secret**_

_**Way to escape.**_

_**Can't seem to find**_

_**Another one like me**_

_**Can't seem to be**_

**_Able to breath._**"

"Where did you learn that song?" He interrupted.

She stopped singing and turned to him. "I wrote it." She said softly.

-

When I told Erik that I was the one who wrote the song, his shock was evident. He staggered back and looked at me with an emotion that was near to horror.

"What?" I asked, confused. I rubbed my arms. I still felt cold, and I thought I was getting a fever. I was still wearing the same clothes that I had been wearing when I fell into the water. I doubted that the Phantom had any dresses that I would be able to wear.

"Are you sure that you wrote it?" He asked in a voice that was struggling to control itself.

"Of course I'm sure." I said. "I was sixteen when I wrote it. In fact, it was about two weeks before my sixteenth birthday." I turned back to look at the fire. "Why?" I shivered again and sneezed.

"Can you turn up the heat?" I asked. But then I remembered that it wasn't the twenty-first century anymore. It was the year, 1870. **_Oops_**, I thought.

However, Erik must have thought that I was talking about the fire, because he bent down and added more wood, sifting the old, half-burnt logs around to make room for fresh ones.

"You never did tell me who you are." I said, trying to sound casual.

"If you don't already know, then it's better you don't find out." He said, and he left the room.

When he came back, he was carrying a pillow and a blanket. He set them out on the couch.

"You can stay here for tonight." He said. "But tomorrow you must return home." He paused before adding, "And you can't tell anyone about me."

"I won't" I said. "And thank you for letting me stay here."

Erik nodded and said, "I bid you bon soir, Mademoiselle." Then he left the room, leaving me alone.

I stood up and stretched my legs. My dress and hair were dry, but I felt like I really needed a shower. I climbed under the covers of the blanket and buried my face in the feather pillow. It was soft and I felt as though my face was sinking in it.

As I began to drift off to sleep, I remembered about the time machine. I sat up and felt around my waist for it. It was still there. I unbuckled it and looked at the numbers. I recalled the combination to make it small, and punched it in. The machine shrunk to the size of a bracelet and I was able to slip it around my wrist without any trouble.

I then snuggled back down under the covers and slowly drifted off to sleep. I dreamt of home, and what my mother might have been doing. Oddly enough, I dreamed that my mother was talking with AM1 and AM2. As I collapsed completely into slumber, I saw Joey and AM4 in the tunnel. I heard AM4 say something, but I was fast asleep before I had a chance to process it.

-

Erik watched Rebecca climb under the covers of the bed. He breathed a sigh of relief. She was going to go straight to sleep.

He was about to go to bed himself, when he saw her sit up. She removed the ribbon from around her waist, and he realized that it wasn't a ribbon. It was a belt. Erik caught a glimpse of some sort of metal as she tilted the belt, and touched it in three different spots. Then, before his eyes, the belt shrunk to the size of a bracelet, and Rebecca slipped it around her wrist. Then she lay back down under the blanket.

Erik waited until he could hear her breathing even out, and he knew she was asleep. He crept forward until he stood in front of the couch. He bent down and looked at her. Her face was so peaceful and innocent. But such things couldn't fool him. He knew that things weren't always what they appeared to be.

Erik pulled back the blanket just enough so he could get a better look at the belt/bracelet. It was obviously made of metal, but most of it was covered with a white fabric. Erik gently slipped the bracelet off of her wrist and examined it. It had a bunch of buttons on one part. The buttons were numbered from one to nine.

Erik would have liked to look at it longer, but he didn't want to risk waking her. So he slipped the bracelet/belt back around Rebecca's wrist, and he left the room.

Erik knew her name, but that was really all he knew. He would have to ask her some more questions before she left the next morning. Erik climbed into bed, but couldn't sleep. So, instead, he decided to do a little composing. He went to his piano and pulled out some pieces of paper. They already had some notes scrawled on them, but the score wasn't finished.

Erik played a few notes, mindful that Rebecca was sleeping in the next room. But, try as he might, he couldn't get the song that Rebecca had been singing out of his head. Erik was always one to finish one masterpiece before starting on another, but he felt such a sense of urgency attached to this song, that he felt he had to write the music for it.

Erik grabbed several new pieces of paper and played a few notes. He scrawled something on the page and played another few. The entire night went on like that for him. When morning came, he was still writing. His movements were almost frantic. He didn't even recall the incident with the girl.

**A/N: This seems to get more and more interesting with every chapter! if you're surprised that I said that, it's because I don't plan my chapters ahead of time. I just scribble whatever comes to mind when I'm writing. Review, please! And here's the translation:**

**1) Good night.**


	14. Whispers in Sickness

Wandering Child

Chapter 14- Whispers in Sickness

Erik was playing his finished piece when he recalled where he had first heard the words. This thought allowed him to remember Rebecca.

He stopped his playing and went to see if she was awake. As he passed through the doorway of his music room, he glanced at the clock. It said that it was 8 o'clock in the morning.

When Erik looked to see if Rebecca was awake, he saw that she wasn't. He left her to sleep a little longer. Then, when she had fully woken, he would lead her out of the tunnels and outside. From the opera, she would be able to make her way home.

Erik checked on her an hour later. She was still fast asleep. Then he noticed the beads of sweat on her forehead, and how her breathing was shallow and irregular. He realized then that she was sick. She must have developed a fever overnight.

Erik left the room and went into the kitchen. He took a large bowl out of the cupboard and filled it with cool water from the lake. Taking a cloth with him, he returned to Rebecca's side. He dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed her forehead with it.

The cool water seemed to revive her enough so that she was at least somewhat aware of her surroundings. She tried to sit up, but Erik pushed her back down.

"Don't get up." He said gruffly.

She lifted her hand to her eyes. "What's going on?" She asked. "Where am I?"

"You're sick." Was all Erik said. He continued to dab her forehead with the cloth.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. At first, Erik thought that she was asleep again, but then she opened her eyes again and looked at him.

"Joey," She murmured. "Joey is always nice. She makes me laugh. I have a friend now, and I am always going to have a friend." Erik listened as she babbled on about always having friends, and then not having any for a longtime. She was obviously hallucinating.

"But Joey is my friend now." She continued. "And we'll be friends forever. Unless I can't go home. If the time machine breaks, then I won't be able to go home. But that's okay. I kind of like it here."

**_Time machine?_** Erik thought. **_What is a time machine? Is it something that can go to the future?_** Then a thought struck him. The bracelet. Of course. She was talking to someone who she thought she knew, and who she thought knew about this time machine. He quickly brought his mind back to the present so he could figure out what she was saying.

"AM1 and AM2 sent me to the year 1870 to find him. They want him to lead them. I think that's stupid. It doesn't matter what you look like. I really don't think that Joey, AM1, AM2, and AM4 have to feel ashamed. Don't people nowadays know that it's what's one the inside, not the outside that counts? I mean, come on! It's the twenty-first century for crying out loud. Show some respect."

She stopped talking, and her eyes turned to him. They were glazed over. A tear trickled down her cheek. She reached out her hand to his face.

But just before she could touch his mask, she let her hand drop to her side. Another tear slid down her cheek, and her eyes seemed to clear.

"I told Joey the truth about her. I told her the truth about everyone who feels they're not good enough. I said to her, "You are precious no matter what you look like. And you are beautiful. You are so beautiful, you can't possibly imagine.

" "People think that because they don't look like everyone else, or because they don't dress like everyone else, then that makes them weird, or makes them a freak. But that's not true. I have believed that about myself, too.

" "I know what it's like to lie awake at night wondering what is wrong with me. Wondering, and asking God to fix me.

" "But if there is weakness, strength will replace it. Where there is hatred, love will appear. Beauty blossoms from ugliness, and when you are caged, there will always be someone to set you free. You are always beautiful, and you always have been. You are loved. Never forget that." " She fell silent, and she closed her eyes in slumber. Her arm was hanging halfway off of the couch.

Erik tucked her arm under the blanket, and sat back to watch the fire. A tear slid down his left cheek. It traveled down his chin, and dripped onto his pants.

The words that Rebecca had spoken felt as though they had come from somewhere else. Somewhere in his head, that he hadn't wanted to acknowledge in his heart. Erik then gave himself up. He allowed himself a luxury that he hadn't had in a while: the luxury of a good cry.

-

I woke up to see Erik sitting in front of the fire. He was staring at the flames so fiercely, that I feared they would burn the whole house to the ground.

I sat up slowly. I vaguely remembered a dream where I was talking to my mother, and explaining to her how I had felt for so long, how I had made a friend, and why I was gone for so long.

I shook the memory out of my head and ran my hand through my hair. What I really needed at that moment was a good wash. I decided to ask Erik if there was a place where I could bathe. But then I remembered that I was supposed to "go home". I decide to ask him if he was going to lead me through the tunnels.

But before I could, he turned his head slightly so that I was able to see part of the left half of his face. For a moment, he looked as though he'd been crying, but I pushed that thought away. I figured it to be the reflection of the fire.

"Who is Joey?" He asked. I froze. **_How could he know that?_** I asked myself. I decided to play the idiot card.

"Who?" I asked, tilting my head to one side like an eagle.

"Joey, you're friend. Who is she?" He turned to face me fully.

I desperately tried to look confused, but instead I only succeeded in looking even more uncomfortable and nervous. If the idiot card didn't work, then I had no choice but to play the truth card.

"How do you know about Joey?" I asked uncertainly.

"You had a fever." Erik explained. "You were babbling about yourself and your life."

I'm certain that the look on my face was one of pure horror. I covered my mouth with one hand and let out a tiny squeak.

"Did-did I say anything else?" I asked fearfully.

"Yes." Erik replied quietly. His face seemed to harden. **_Oh, no_**, I thought. **_He knows who I am and why I'm here. This is sure to screw with the story._**

"What things did I say?" I asked, unsure whether I wanted to know or not.

"You mentioned people named AM4, AM1, and AM2." He said. He examined my face with his eyes. His head never moved. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and curiosity.

"What else?" I whispered quietly.

"You mentioned how your friends were always thinking about how rejected they were, and you repeated what you had said to Joey. Words to encourage her."

"Anything else?" I asked, fervently hoping that there wouldn't be anything about the time machine.

"No." Erik said, shaking his head. I let out a loud and obvious sigh of relief. My secret was still safe.

With the relief that Erik still didn't know about the time machine, I noticed three things. One: I was enormously hungry. Two: I needed a bath really badly because I stank worse than a camel's behind. And three: That my dress was positively ruined.

My stomach growled, and Erik pointed to a tray of food on a side table that was near the couch.

"Thank you." I said appreciatively. I walked over to the table and brought the tray with me onto the couch. I crossed my legs and set the tray on my lap. Then I dug into the food with gusto.

There were three slices of bacon, a piece of toast, two small pancakes, and a mountain of fresh fruit. There was some cantaloupe, strawberries, mango, honeydew, and kiwi. I wondered how he could have gotten a hold of such foreign species of fruit.

As I ate, I watched Erik out of the corner of my eye. He was staring at the floor. He had his knees tucked up against his chest, and he was sitting on the floor. I wondered what he was thinking.

-

Erik stared at the floor. He couldn't look at her for fear that she would look at him. He didn't want her to see the shame in his eyes. He didn't want her to know that the words she had spoken had had such an impact on him.

Erik still hadn't introduced himself to Rebecca, but she didn't seem to have a problem with that. She appeared to be content with his decision to keep his identity to himself. He appreciated that more than anything that anyone else had done for him. She respected his privacy, and that was something he treasured. Even when she was hallucinating, she still didn't touch his mask. True, she had **_nearly_** touched it. But at the last minute, she had retracted her hand.

Erik sat on the floor, thinking about what Rebecca had said. He wondered if she had actually said those things to her friend, or if she had really been aware of what was going on and had said it for his benefit.

He raised his head when she said something. "Pardon, Mademoiselle?" He asked.

"I said, thank you for breakfast. It was wonderful." She smiled, and Erik stood up. Rebecca stood up, too, and she stretched, yawning widely and noisily. She was definitely **NOT** a ballet rat. Those girls were sticklers when it came to being ladylike.

-

I looked down at myself with disgust. My dress was all wrinkled, and My hair was still a bit stiff from the previous day's incident in the lake.

I glanced at Erik. He was looking off into the distance and frowning. I wondered if it would be okay to ask if he had any spare dresses. I couldn't ask outright, though. It had to be discreet. A comment would be the best way to go.

"I wish I had something fresh to change into." I stated. It was obvious enough that I figured he would be able to understand. He didn't.

"Well, I wish I could help you, but I can't." He sad.

"That's alright." I said, trying to be gracious. "I suppose that once I get home I can change and get cleaned up." I looked at him. He was still looking off into the distance. The only difference now was that he had started to pace.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. I suddenly had a feeling that something bad was either going to happen, or had already happened.

-

Erik admired how she kept her composure. She was disappointed, but to the average person, it would seem as though it was only a polite remark. He had a feeling that when she said it was alright that he couldn't help her, that she was really expecting him to be able to.

**_She knows more than she's telling_**, he thought. He promised himself that he would find out what she was hiding. In the meantime, he had an errand to run. It was time to deliver another message to the new managers of the Opera Populaire.

**A/N: This is getting good! Bet you're wondering why Erik didn't tell Rebecca about everything she said when she was sick. You'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out. Review please!**


	15. Poor Erik

Wandering Child

Chapter 15- Poor Erik

**A/N: The part of PotO where Raoul is being captured is from the book. Most of the happenings are actually a combination of the book, and the 2004 movie. (I can't remember everything in the book, so I added some of what I know about the movie.)**

-

It was evening and I sat in front of the fire reading a book. Erik had gone out on an errand, and I was alone with my thoughts. I tried to pay attention to the words, but I couldn't. Something was bothering me.

I put down the book and got up to get a glass of water. As I drank the cool liquid, I finally realized what was bugging me: Erik had lied. I knew he had. He had looked so angry when he had said that I had been talking in my sleep. I knew it was because I had spoken about the time machine. The question was, why had he not said so? And why did he not decide then and there to just strangle me with his lasso?

I returned to the parlor and sat on the couch. There was something else that was bugging me, too. Why had Erik not told me who he was? True, I already knew who he was, but he didn't know that I knew that.

I curled up on the couch. There were so many questions that needed answers. And they were answers that I didn't have. How was I going to get Erik to come back with me to the twenty-first century? And at what point in the story had I come in? I didn't know, but I had a feeling that I would find out soon enough.

I decided to do a little exploring. I knew that I shouldn't go in Erik's room; that was automatically off limits. I wasn't planning on going there, though. I was planning on finding the statue of Christine. Joey had told me about how Erik was obsessed with her, and how he had had a life-like mannequin made of her. I figured that if I had entered at the end of the story, the statue would no longer be there.

But just as I was about to leave the parlor, I heard voices. I thought that Erik was most likely returning. Unfortunately, I knew that he had someone with him. There was more than one voice, and the second voice was high, and not at all like Erik's.

I quickly made a decision. AM4 and Joey had said that I wasn't to interfere with the basic storyline of the book, so I hid.

I threw open a closet door and saw it was just a storage area. I went inside and shut the door behind me. I would have cleaned up my stuff in the parlor, but I had no time.

The voices were louder now, and I could hear sobbing. I waited with baited breath as the sobbing grew louder and I could hear someone wailing.

I heard Erik's gruff voice drowning out the woman's sobs for a moment. She was obviously begging him to do something.

I recalled what Joey had said about the story. This was most likely the part where Raoul was in Erik's torture chamber, and Christine was being made to watch as he and the Persian were tortured. Joey had described the method to me. I shuddered.

I waited in the closet a long time. There were many noises, and I couldn't quite remember exactly what Joey had said happened after the torture chamber started to fill with water. I remembered that there were supposed to be barrels in the cellar below the chamber. The barrels were filled with gunpowder.

Erik had been intending to blow up the Opera house. I knew that he eventually allowed Christine to go and run off with Raoul. I smiled briefly as I remembered Joey vehemently calling Raoul a stupid fop, and Christine a moronic bimbo.

All of a sudden, I realized that the sounds had stopped. Not a sound could be heard. I figured that Erik had already allowed Christine to leave. That meant that there would be a mob coming pretty soon.

Slowly and cautiously, I opened the door of the closet. All was silent as I crept out of the closet, and back into the parlor. It was empty. I searched nearly every room in the house. It was empty. Had Erik left without me? I didn't think that he would. Then again, I didn't know how ruthless he could be.

After I had checked every room but Erik's, and the room that I thought to be Christine's, I knocked on Erik's door. No answering sound came from behind the closed wooden door.

I knocked again. "Erik?" I called out tentatively. Still no answer. It didn't even occur to me to open the door. Either way, though, I would never have betrayed Erik's privacy like that. If I wanted him to trust and respect me and be my friend, then I would have to trust and respect him.

I assumed that Erik didn't want to talk, or wasn't there. So I went up to the doorway of the room that I believed to be Christine's. I knocked tentatively on the door. I thought I heard a shuffling sound on the other side. I hoped that I was right when I assumed that Christine had already gone off with Raoul.

No one came to the door, so I knocked again. Another shuffling sound, and then the muffled sound of music. It was a simple melody that was being played, an every so often, I could hear the faint clash of tiny cymbals. I realized with a start that it must be the music box that Joey had told me about.

"Erik?" I asked hesitantly. Abruptly, the music stopped. Slowly, I opened the door. Erik was sitting on the swan bed, staring at the little music box with the monkey playing the cymbals. Erik was holding the revolving pin that was located at the back of the music box. That way, the pin couldn't turn and play music.

Erik slowly turned his head to face me. I didn't shudder, nor flinch, nor gasp. I simply looked at him like I would look at a normal human being. He wasn't wearing his mask. I don't know whether it was because AM1 had already shown me her face, so I knew what that kind of deformity looked like. Or if it was because Joey had told me all about Erik and how he was sensitive about his deformity.

The pain in his eyes was all too real. I slowly took a step forward, and Erik flinched. I came toward him and kneeled in front of him.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, not knowing what else to say. Erik said nothing, but continued to hold the music box in his hands. He had let go of the pin, and I could faintly hear the soft music, partnered with the tiny clash of the monkey's cymbals.

We both sat there for what seemed like a long time without saying anything. My feet itched to run. If one or both of us was found here, we would both be killed. This I knew for certain.

"You know," I said softly. "When I was sick, you said that I had repeated what I had said to my friend, Joey. Those words can apply to anyone, not just her." I watched his face for even the tiniest reaction. Then, as an after thought, I added, "Although, she was in the same situation as you."

Erik seemed to snort contemptuously. I thought I heard him whisper, "Not exactly the same situation."

I gently laid a hand on his arm. I felt the skin underneath his sleeve flinch at my touch. "Erik," I said gently. "We have to leave. If they find you here, they...well, they won't be happy." I finished lamely. I couldn't bring myself to say that they would kill him. He knew that already, and repeating it would only make him feel worse.

Slowly, as though every movement pained him, he stood up. I quickly stood up as well. I had always thought that I was a pretty good size, being 5'6. After standing beside him, I never thought that again. He was at least six feet tall, if not taller.

"I will lead you to an exit where you can find your way home," He said slowly. Then he left the room. He didn't take his mask with him. I grabbed it and shoved it into one of the hidden pockets in my rumpled dress. Then I followed him.

I found him by his piano. It was in his music room. For reasons that I will never understand, Erik had several mirrors in his music room. I thought that, for someone who doesn't like their appearance, he sure had quite a few mirrors.

Erik looked at the mirrors contemptuously, as though they had been the cause of all his problems. Then Erik picked up a paperweight that he had on a desk nearby and smashed the first mirror. The glass shattered into a million tiny pieces.

A larger piece cut me on the cheek. I barely noticed. I watched as Erik smashed every single mirror in the room. The last mirror he hit even harder than the previous ones. Behind the shattered remains of the mirror was a small, dark space.

Without hesitating, Erik stepped through. I followed and Erik let down a curtain in front of the mirror, form the other side. Then he slid a large rock in front of the opening, just to be sure. The opening securely sealed, Erik strode off into the darkness.

I followed, keeping close to him because I couldn't see a thing in the darkness. We traveled for what seemed like days before Erik seemed to notice that I was tiring. He stopped, and I bumped into his back.

Erik struck a light. It was small, and did nothing to chase away the shadows that lurked around every corner.

I plopped down on the ground and took off my sneakers. It felt strange to have something like that with me. I had felt as though my old life was merely a dream since I had arrived, and it felt strange to tell myself that it wasn't a dream; that it was real.

"I don't suppose you thought to bring anything to eat?" I asked, fingering the "bracelet" around my wrist.

"No." He said flatly.

"Didn't think so." I said. There was a long pause where neither of us said anything.

"How do you know my name?" Erik asked slowly.

"Oh, that's easy." I said matter-of-factly. I was tired of lying. I was going to tell the truth.

**A/N: Review, please! (I wonder how many chapters this is going to end up having? It already has 15.)**


	16. The Truth

Wandering Child

Chapter 16- The Truth

"Really?" Erik asked, skeptical that figuring out his name would be so simple. "How?"

"Well," She said. "Why don't I start at the beginning."

Erik nodded and sat down. "We're safe here." He said, and he crossed his legs.

"Lessee..." She muttered, "Well, I was born on April twenty-seventh, in the year 1988. I have always assumed that I was adopted because my "mother" never really seemed like a mother to me. I've always seemed to have friends, but when I turned eighteen, I just sort of drifted away from all of them. Just after school ended-" Here, Erik interrupted her.

"What is "school"?" He asked.

"It's a place where lots of kids go to learn. They start when they're about five or six, and they finish at eighteen. They don't sleep there, though. They go home in the middle of the afternoon, and then they return the next morning at about eight-thirty am."

"Oh." Erik said, still a little confused.

"Anyway, just as school was ending, and it was one of the last days of the year-you only have to study ten out of twelve months each year. Studies start in September, and end in July-I was in the library when I found a manuscript for a musical. Unfortunately, it was taken from me, so I can't show it to you. But it was titled, **_Don Juan Triumphant_**." Erik looked at her in surprise.

"On the cover, it had the initials, **_A. O. M._**, and on the inside, it said, **_To my darling daughter, _**etc, etc. I don't remember all of it. Anyways, I was almost killed, yadda, yadda. Then I met AM1, AM2, AM4, and Joey. They are all members of a group called, The Council of Music. I bet you can't guess why they're called that." She challenged with a twinkle in her eye.

"Most likely not." Erik suppressed a sigh. She was dragging the explanation out for far too long. Although, he was interested as to how-if what she had said was true-she had come to appear here.

"The AM stands for Angel of Music." Rebecca stated matter-of-factly. "They wanted me to go back in time to retrieve you, so you could lead their group."

"And why did they want me to lead their group?" Erik asked.

"Because...well...uh..."Her voice faltered. "They are deformed. And they believe, since you have such a following in my time, that if you were to lead them, then they would be considered more acceptable in society."

Erik tried to keep his voice steady. "How exactly is it that I have a following?" He asked.

"Because," Rebecca said. "Someone is going to write a book about you, and then millions of girls will read it, not to mention that it will become a famous musical, and then all those girls start feeling bad because everyone treated you like you were worthless-which, by the way, you aren't-and then they started to daydream and fantasize about you. Before you know it, you have millions of girls wishing they were able to go back in time so they could date you." She paused for a gulp of air.

"So you expect me to believe that you went back in time to retrieve me, because this...Council of Music wanted me to lead them, because there are millions of girl who are obsessed with me?" He asked incredulously.

-

"No." I said. "I don't expect you to believe it. But that doesn't mean that it's not true." I looked at Erik with an almost-solemn expression on my face. Then, out of the clear blue, I said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Erik asked.

"I'm sorry that things didn't work out between you two." I said.

Erik's face hardened. "It's none of your business." He stood up. "I think it's time you went home." He said.

"That's a little difficult." I replied.

"How?" Erik asked.

"Well," I said slowly, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. "The codes that Joey wrote down are all smudged. I don't know how to tell which is which now." I paused. "I could be looking at a three, but it looks like an eight, or a six."

"Then you will have to find your own way in this time." Erik replied. "Because I will not house you any longer."

I didn't answer him. For some reason, I didn't want to leave him. I remembered what AM1 and AM2 had told me about Erik committing suicide.

"I-I can't do that." I choked out. There was a lump in my throat and I swallowed hard before continuing. "I mean, the book said..." I took deep breaths to calm myself. **_Relax_**, I told myself. **_It's not that big of a deal._**

"The book said that you were going to commit suicide."

Erik's face changed to surprise, then horror, and then anger. "I'm not going to commit suicide." He said between clenched teeth.

I stood up to face him. I was just over half his height. "You're right." I said, my voice a little wobbly. "Because I'm not going to let you." I put my hands on my hips and stood straight in front of him.

Erik laughed. "You?" He asked incredulously. "You couldn't prevent a fly from biting you!" Erik laughed again.

That really hurt, and I was sure it showed on my face. I quickly covered it up. "You know," she said. "I used to think that you weren't all that bad; that you were just misunderstood. Now I know better." I gathered myself up to my full height. "You're not just ugly on the outside. You're ugly on the inside, too."

Erik had stopped laughing, and I could see expressions of surprise, then hurt, and then anger cross his face. He reached out on hand and grabbed my wrist, wrenching it. I let out an unearthly scream that echoed through the tunnels. I couldn't prevent the tears from streaking down my face.

"LET GO OF ME!" I screamed in pain again.

Erik let go of my wrist and I fell to the floor. I held my wrist in my hand, cradling it. I could feel Erik's burning eyes glaring at me with hatred.

I whimpered and rocked back and forth on the floor. It's true that what I had said was cruel, some might even say heartless. But he had laughed at me.

I've been lying. I've never really had much for friends. I did finally have friends when I was in my senior year of high school, but before that I didn't. I had been a loner.

So when Erik had laughed at me like that, it had brought up all those years of pain and heartache, of not knowing what I had done wrong, of wanting to be accepted. My first reaction had been to retaliate, and that's just what I had done.

As I rocked back and forth on the floor, whimpering because of the pain, I heard a grating noise. I looked up, and saw that Erik was standing stiff as stone. Someone had realized that the stone blocking the tunnel we were in could be moved.

I stood up on shaking legs. "Erik." I whispered. I looked up at him with tears trickling down my cheeks. Erik looked down at me with a bleak expression on his face. Then he grabbed my other wrist, the one he hadn't hurt, and ran, with me close behind.

**A/N: Okay, okay. I know what Rebecca said was mean. Don't worry; she apologizes for it in the next chapter. Please review and tell me what you think. (Don't hurt me!)**


	17. Apologies

Wandering Child

Chapter 17- Apologies

**A/N: I got quite a few reviews asking about Rebecca's actions in the last chapter. This is why: I'm trying to incorporate into her personality a lot of the things I would do, and the things I would like to do. For example, if Erik had laughed at me like that, I would have liked to have called him ugly, but I wouldn't have. Instead, I would have just stood there with a hurt expression on my face. If I had said something like that, and Erik had retaliated with twisting my wrist, then I would have screamed in pain, like Rebecca did. I see now that it was a little silly of me to try to make her tough and weak at the same time. I will do what I can to correct that in this chapter.**

-

I ran after Erik with tears streaming down my face. My wrist throbbed in pain, and I had a hard time keeping up with Erik's long strides.

I could hear footsteps behind us. Our feet flying across the stones, we ran for our lives. If either of us were caught, that person would die.

Erik turned a sudden corner, and climbed up some hidden ridges in the stone wall. As soon as he had reached the top, he pushed back a stone covering. I winced as the harsh grating sound echoed down the passageway. Erik climbed up the ladder and held his hand down to me. I reached up with the hand that was unhurt, and Erik pulled me up. Then he replaced the stone covering.

I looked around me. We were in a church. A sudden thought struck me. We were most likely in the famous Notre Dame Cathedral. The beautiful stain glass windows sparkled in the light coming through them, and they cast shadows of color all over the stone floor. It turned the ground under our feet into a rainbow.

"We will be safe here." Erik said. "It is forbidden to make an arrest in a church."

"Lucky us." I said sarcastically. "What happens when we get hungry? What do we do then?" I asked.

"I can go for days without eating." Erik said.

"You can, but I can't." I retorted. "I have difficulty going two hours without eating."

For a moment, I thought I saw Erik smile. But it must have been the reflection of the windows, because the next moment, he was frowning.

"Then you can go." He said. "It's not like they'll hurt you."

"Think again." I said. "Because I've met you, and haven't told anyone, they'll punish me too."

"But they won't kill you." He said with sadness in his voice.

"I suppose it's possible that they won't," I replied. "But that doesn't rule it out completely."

Erik walked off and sat down on one of the benches. I had never seen such a hopeless expression on anyone's face in my entire life. For a moment, I thought he was going to cry, but he just sat there with that despairing look on his face. I slowly came up to him and sat down. He didn't move.

"Erik," I said. Slowly, he turned and I saw the bleak expression on his face. I winced in guilt. "Erik, I'm sorry." I said. "I shouldn't have said the things that I did. It wasn't fair of me to say those things. I didn't mean them, and they weren't true. I-" Erik interrupted me.

"No," he said. "You were right. I am ugly." Now the tears came.

"No you're not, Erik." I said, putting my arm around his shoulders. His shoulders tensed when I touched him. "I've never met anyone more beautiful." I said.

"Then I guess you must have met some pretty ugly people in your life." He replied glumly.

"You're right." I said. "I have met some pretty ugly people. But they weren't ugly on the outside. They were ugly on the inside, and that's worse than being ugly on the outside." Erik hung his head in shame.

"Hey," I said, turning his head towards me. "You have nothing to me ashamed of. You never had someone in your life to show you a good example, or to love you the way you deserved-and still deserve-to be loved. It's not your fault." I squeezed his shoulder supportively.

"You heard about all the bad things in the world, and you saw how people treated you, and never learned any other way of living. We learn by example. Those people, they were all a bunch of superficial weirdos. You," I said, pointing at him for emphasis.

"You are the one who is normal. And do you know why?" Erik shook his head. "You are normal because you treated others in the only way you knew how. I would bet you any amount of money that if you had a mother and father who were loving and supportive, you would have turned out much differently. Those people who hurt you, they knew how to treat others the right way. You never learned that. Don't ever think that it's your fault that you turned out this way."

"You realize," Erik said. "That that's kind of a backhanded compliment."

"It's fact, Erik." I replied quietly. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you're not always a nice person. You can be, but you've never learned how to handle a situation when things don't go the way you wanted. The human race is selfish by nature. I'm selfish, too. Everyone wants more of this and more of that. It's only natural that you feel the way you do."

"So it's selfish of me to want to be loved?" Erik asked, hanging his head once more.

"No." I said firmly, turning his head towards me again. "No, that's not selfish of you at all. What is selfish is trying to force someone to love you when they don't want to. When you do that, you only push them farther away." I paused.

"You know," I said. "One of the reasons that I always had so much trouble getting people to like me was because, whenever someone would try to be friendly, I would want to be around them constantly. People need their space. I had to learn that the hard way."

Erik looked at me, the tears trickling down his cheeks. "You've never had to go through what I've gone through." He said softly. Then he turned his head away again.

"You're right." I said. "I had a family who loved and cared for me. But I was also adopted. I've gone through life wondering where I came from. You think that doesn't hurt? Or how about being made fun of by your classmates because you asked your teacher a question? That hurts, too."

I searched my pockets then for something that I knew belonged to him. I held out his mask to him. He stared at it.

"The decision is yours to make, Erik." I said. "You can either continue on the wide road of destruction you're on, or you can change directions, and go the narrow way. True, the narrow way it harder, but it leads to a better life, in the long run. The choice is yours alone. What's it going to be?" I looked at him steadily and unflinchingly.

Slowly, as though the movement pained him, Erik took the mask from my hand. "I don't want to walk this road anymore." He said, and put it on. I smiled. "But I don't know where else to go. Should I give myself up?"

"Well," I said slowly, thinking. "I don't think that you should give yourself up to the police or anything, but I do think you should make a formal apology and return most, if not all, of the money that was given to you."

"Even if I do that, they will never forgive me." Erik looked up at me sorrowfully. "I have killed."

"God forgives even those who have killed." I said solemnly.

"And if I don't believe in God?" He asked.

I smiled. "Well, we are in a church." I said matter-of-factly.

Erik smiled weakly. "That's true." He said. "But I don't think it likely that the people will forgive me."

"That may be." I said. "But we don't apologize just so people will like us. We apologize because it's the right thing to do."

-

While Rebecca was explaining to Erik what he should do, Erik was thinking about why she was so moody. One moment, she was all tough and fighting back, the next she was quiet and reserved and unable to retaliate.

He examined her without seeming to do so. She was really a sweet girl, all things considered. But Erik wasn't sure that that was her reasoning for encouraging him. Did she feel bad about calling him ugly?

"You confuse me." Erik interrupted. "One minute, you act as though you want to rip my head off, the next you are trying to comfort me. I don't understand it."

She sighed. "Well," She said nervously. "I insulted you before because I was angry, and your laughter had hurt. When a person is hurt, they don't want to be nice, they want to hurt the one who hurt them. That's why I'm apologizing."

Erik looked at her. "I'm still confused." He said.

"It was wrong to insult you like that." She said. "And I'm sorry."

-

I really was sorry. When I had insulted Erik like that, I had wanted to take it back right away because it wasn't fair to him. But before I could say anything, he twisted my wrist. I was going to insult him, but what with trying to make my wrist stop hurting, realizing that we weren't safe anymore, and running for our lives, I kind of got side tracked. Once we had reached safety, I had stopped being angry. Although, my wrist still hurt.

"But what about you acting afraid all of sudden." He asked.

"I don't know," I said nervously. "I guess I was afraid. I act all big and tough, but I'm not really. I guess I'm a bit of a Mary-Sue."

"A what?" Erik asked.

"A Mary-Sue." I replied. "A Mary-Sue is someone who most people consider to be pretty and practically perfect, but they have some sort of "dark past" or something." I shrugged sheepishly.

Then Erik saw me rubbing my wrist, and he asked, "Does your wrist still hurt?"

"Yeah," I said. "But it'll heal." I looked up at the pulpit in the church. I was thinking about home. I really missed Joey and my parents. I even missed AM4. **_I need a hug_**, I thought. A song started going through my head. I let it play through once before shutting it out. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness.

"I'm sorry for hurting your wrist." Erik apologized with difficulty.

"Everyone makes mistakes." I replied. "Besides," I said. "Maybe now I'll learn to be tough for real instead of pretending to be tough." I smiled ruefully.

There was a long pause before I piped up, "So where are you going to go now, since, you know, you can't go back to your lair? At least, not just yet."

"I'm not sure." Erik said. "There are whole areas of those underground tunnels that haven't been explored. At least, not by people other than myself." He paused. "I could just go there. What about you?"

"I think I'll go off and see if I can find a job that includes room and board." I said. "Otherwise, who knows where I'll end up?" I said ruefully.

We sat there for a long time before I said goodbye to Erik and left the church. I walked out into the bright morning sunshine. Tilting my head to catch the morning rays, I contemplated what to do next. I was sure that there had to be a rich, or semi-rich, family around who needed a servant. I couldn't really cook, but I could clean. I strode off and disappeared into the growing crowd.

-

Erik watched her go. He had a feeling that he would be seeing her again some time soon. She didn't seem to be the kind of person who would abandon people in poverty, if she could help it.

Erik waited until sundown before returning to the tunnels. There was silence all around him. He ventured to where the stone was supposed to be. It had been moved, and Erik cautiously returned to his home to survey the damage.

**A/N: I believe that this is the last chapter in the story. Now before you go writing reviews saying that it better not be the last chapter, know that there will be a sequel. Now that I think about it, I will add a concluding chapter. Like a prologue that explains what goes on with Rebecca's mom, and with David and Joey. I promised an explanation for those things, and I will keep that promise.**


	18. Prologue: Mourning & Celebration

Wandering Child

Prologue- Mourning and Celebration

Margaret Lawrence was in mourning. The Council's members that had gone with Rebecca had given up. They had waited two weeks, and still Rebecca had not returned.

The Council had repeatedly apologized, and Margaret had accepted their apology each time, but that didn't bring her daughter back. She had wanted to explain to Rebecca about where she had come form, but she suspected that Rebecca already knew that she had been adopted.

Margaret had tried to explain the situation to her husband when he returned form his meeting, but he was unwillingly to listen. He had the police searching all over town. Margaret knew it was useless. Rebecca was in the nineteenth century now. There was no way that she was coming home any time soon.

Margaret had been unwilling to have a memorial service for Rebecca, because she knew that Rebecca was still alive, just in another time period. But after a month of the police searching, her husband began to prepare for one without her consent. He was in mourning, too, but only because he believed Rebecca to be dead.

Before the service started, Margaret asked one of the members of the Council of Music, Joey, to say a little something about Rebecca and then sing a song. Joey had readily agreed. She had apparently become good friends with Rebecca during their trip to Paris, and during the short time that they were in Paris together.

As Joey came up to the podium in the small church that friends and family had gathered in, the room grew deathly still. Music began to play. Joey's petite form barely reached the top of the microphone, so she removed it and stepped away from it. Then she began to sing.

"A little girl,

A little small for her age,

A little too slow for the field day race.

Mama's waiting at the finish line

And wipes the teardrops form her eyes.

She said, "Did just fine, Honey, that's okay.

Sometimes life's just that way.

You're gonna lose the race from time to time

But you'll always cross the line."

You can't lose me,

If you're alive.

I am here and I will always be

Oh, yeah, just a wish away.

Wherever you go,

No matter how far.

My love is where you are.

You won't be lost if you believe.

Oh, you can't lose me.

Mama used to say,

Girl it won't be long

'Til it's time to go out on your own.

Taste your dreams; find your place in life.

I know you'll do just fine.

When that day finally came,

And the things she needed to, but could not say,

So I whispered something

As I wiped the tears from Mama's eyes,

You can't lose me,

If you're alive.

I am here and I will always be

Oh, yeah, just a wish away.

Wherever I go,

No matter how far.

My love is where you are.

You won't be lost if you believe.

Oh, you can't lose me.

Wherever you go,

Hey, no matter how far,

My love is where you are.

You won't be lost if you believe.

No, you can't lose me.

Hey-ay, you can't lose me.

Oh.

Wherever you go, hey

No matter how far,

My love is where you are.

You can't lose me.

Oh, oh

You can't lose me.

Hey, you can't lose me."

As the song ended, Margaret wiped her eyes. Her little girl was gone, and there wasn't any way to get her back. It had been that time when Rebecca would have gone out on her own. Margaret rested her head on her husband's shoulder. She sighed and closed her eyes. She wished that Rebecca was still with her. But when she opened her eyes, the pastor was concluding the ceremony, and Rebecca still wasn't there.

-

Joey was happy and sad at the same time. She was happy because, today, she was getting married. In all her Twenty-one years, she had never thought it possible. But she was sad because, although she was going to marry the love of her life, Rebecca wasn't there to see it happen.

Joey knew that Rebecca wasn't coming back. If she was, she would have returned already. Joey had only known Rebecca for a short time, but she had liked her almost instantly. She had been a kind and thoughtful person, with a very interesting personality. Joey was sure that she would have had a hard time predicting what Rebecca would do next.

Joey smoothed out her wedding gown. Although her face had been deformed at birth, the rest of her was normal. She had a normal female figure, and she liked the way the dress accentuated certain aspects of her figure in just the right way.

For her wedding, Joey had had a white mask made with white sequins dotting the edges. Her gown was the traditional white, and bared her shoulders. It flowed out around her like an old-fashioned ball gown, and the long train that trailed behind her was going to be carried by a little girl named Penelope, who was David's little cousin. His aunt and uncle had found out what kind of person he had grown into when he had sent them an invitation, and they had apologized for treating him the way they had.

Penelope was a sweet thing with beautiful brown curls trailing down her back and rosy cheeks. She still had a little bit of baby fat on her and it made her look even cuter in the sunflower-yellow dress that she wore. She also had big brown eyes that widened in amazement when she saw Joey in her wedding dress.

"Are you an angel?" She had asked incredulously. Joey had smiled, and almost gave in to tears. No one had ever called her an angel. She smiled ironically. **_Trust a four-year-old to notice someone's true beauty,_** she thought.

Now, as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she thought that she had actually managed to look pretty.

It was time for her father to walk her down the aisle. Joey had contacted her father once she and David had started preparations for the wedding. Her father had never been supportive of her, but when she told him she was getting married, he bawled like a baby, saying how he was so sorry that he had treated her so cruelly. His reasoning for it was that he hadn't known how to react when he found out about her deformity. He was truly sorry, and Joey had readily accepted his apology, and asked him to come.

Now, as he entered and saw her, she could tell that he truly was repentant of his misdeeds. He extended his arm and Joey took it. Her father led her out of the dressing room, and to the doors of the sanctuary.

They paused outside the doors, and Joey looked behind her shoulder briefly to make sure that Penelope was holding her train. Then she lifted her veil over her face, and allowed her father to walk her down the aisle, into the arms of her beloved.

With a smile on her face, she said her vows, slipped the ring on David's finger, and kissed her new husband. Her heart soared with joy at the thought of the many years they would have together. As she broke the kiss to look into his eyes, she saw that David was thinking the exact same thing.

The newlyweds smiled broadly at each other, and Joey threw her bouquet into the crowd of waiting women. Penelope caught it, and looked over at a little boy standing three feet away. Joey laughed as the boy ran, and Penelope gave chase.

Someday, Joey and David would have kids of their own, and when that day came, She would welcome it with open arms. I there was one thing she had learned from Rebecca. It was that love will always find a way into your life, no matter what.

**A/N: Well, that's the last chapter. I never thought that I would actually finish a story. But don't fret; a sequel is coming soon, although I haven't a clue what to call it. Here's a sneak preview:**

I watched as the people of Paris went about their daily lives, oblivious to everyone's problems but their own. I picked up a fruit and gently felt the skin around it to see if it was fresh.

"I assure you, Mademoiselle, these are the finest and freshest fruits in all of Paris." The man behind the stall said.

"You've said that before, Philippe, and it hasn't always been true." I replied with a smile.

The man, Philippe, put his hand to his heart as though he were injured. "Ah!" He said in mock pain. "You have insulted my person, Mademoiselle. I am injured." He pretended to swoon and fall down.

I put the fruit in my basket, satisfied that it was good enough, and leaned over the table of the stall. "Philippe," I said. "If you want to make any money, you're going to have to stand up and prevent little people from stealing all your fruit." At that, Philippe jumped up. But as he did, he banged his head on the roof of his stall.

He rubbed his head and muttered a few curses in French. I handed him the money and tried to hide my smile.

"Philippe, you should be an entertainer." I said.

"You think so?" He asked. I nodded. "Ah," He said. "I would look good in tights, non?"

"Non." I replied to him, shaking my head at his silly antics. "I must be going now," I said to him. "Madame Rouleau will be needing these fruits for her party tomorrow."

"Is that tomorrow?" He asked as I began to walk away. "Well, then I better get my wife to fix my old suit right away." I smiled and waved. "Au revoir, Mademoiselle Rebecca!" He called, and I pushed through the growing crowd.

-

Erik was watching her. He always watched her. He made sure she stayed out of trouble, and that trouble stayed away from her. He made sure that she didn't get into fights, and that the thugs that liked to lurk in alleys always stayed in the alleys whenever she walked by. He had made it his job to watch over her.

Rebecca was from the future; she didn't know what Paris was like in this century; what dangers lurked around every corner. Of course, Erik was sure that the twenty-first century had it's own dangers, but he was also sure that Rebecca wasn't prepared for the dangers that the nineteenth century held. In the nineteenth century, women were not respected, and men were held high above them. So if something were to happen to Rebecca, the authorities wouldn't do anything to fix it.

Erik watched as Rebecca finished her shopping and began the trek home. Rebecca now worked for a splendidly rich couple that had just happened to need a maid and cook's helper when she came calling.

Actually, after Rebecca's first day of job-searching had been fruitless, Erik had gone to one of the noble's homes and...asked the maid/cook's helper to quit her job. Actually, he hadn't asked. He had pretended to be a ghost (knowing that the woman happened to be very superstitious) and had told her that if she didn't quit her job, she would find bad luck following her for the rest of her life. The woman had quit first thing the next morning.

Erik chuckled at the memory of the overweight woman shivering in terror in the middle of the might.

Rebecca reached her patrons' house in good time, and entered through the kitchen door. He heard her preparing some things and chatting and laughing animatedly with the cook, who Erik didn't trust, and who happened to be male as well as handsome.

Erik had promised himself that he wouldn't interfere with Rebecca's life unless there was danger. But it was difficult for him to not run into the kitchen and strangle the man with his lasso.

Erik sighed and admonished himself. He was supposed to be turning over a new leaf, but he simply couldn't get rid of the idea that strangling annoying people with his lasso would be **_so_** much fun. Of course, he would never actually do such a thing on purpose. Unless, of course, they were a threat to Rebecca in some way. Now all he had to do was figure out some way that the cook was a threat to Rebecca's safety.

Erik sighed again for the umpteenth time and moved away from the window. He returned to his home under the Opera Populaire and tried composing. But no matter how he tried to push them away, thoughts of Rebecca, laughing at whatever it was that the cook said, kept coming back to him.

**A/N: To find out more, you have to wait for the next story in the series. (And if you have a suggestion of a name for it, I would be more than willing to hear it.)**


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